LIBRARY   or    THE    COMMANDERY    OF 
THE  STATE  OF  MASSACHUSETTS  MILITARY 
ORDER   OF  THE   LOYAL  LEGION  OF   THE 
UNITED  STATES 

CADET  ARMORY,    BOSTON 

-^>    ^_-   4029 


SUNSET    STOEIi:S 


ECHOES  FROM  THE  GUN  OF  18G1 


A    BOOK    FOK    BOYS 


N-o.    3. 


'  In  the  world's  broad  field  of  battle. 

In  the  bivouac  of  life, 
Be  not  like  dumb  driven  cattle! 
Be  a  hero  in  the  Btrife !  " 


LOKINGJ-,     r>ubli  slier , 

219  Washin-gton  Street, 
BOSTON. 

1864. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congregg,  in  the  year  1864,  by 
A.     K.    LORING, 
the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  MassachusetU. 


Stereotyped  and  Printed  by 

J.   E.    Fakwell    and    Compaitt, 

37  Congress  Street  Boston. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


CHAPTER 

I.    Thkeb  Brothers 13 


II.      ClECtTMSTANCES ^^ 

III.  Thornton  aroused  at  last 24 

IV.  ^Wishes  and  Plans 31 

V.     Drilling  and  Waiting 41 

VI.    Battle  and  Defeat -^^ 

VII.     After  the  Battle ^^ 

VIII.     Horace  posts  his  Pickets 68 

IX.     Horace  gains  the  Victory 77 

X.  Thornton   learns   by  Experience   the   Truth 

OF  AN  old  Proverb 87 

XI.     Insidious  Foes 10*^ 

XII.     The  Spider  and  the  Fly 115 

XIII.  Thornton's  Adventure,  and  Lee's  Romance.  .  .124 

XIV.  Horace  is  taken  Prisoner 140 

XV.    Bittbr  Fruits ^^^ 


4  CONTEXTS. 

CaiAPTEE  PAGE 

XVI.     Van  wins  the  Pbize 157 

XVII.    Truth  prevails 163 

XVIII.  Horace  manifests  an  unfailing  Sign  of  Con- 
valescence   179 

XIX.     "JiiGHTS  AND  Shadows  "... 188 

XX.  "Poor  Ned,"  and  the  Babes  in  the  Wood...  198 

XXI.     Gettysburg  and  the  IIospital 211 

XXII.     Mr.  Grey's  Library  once  more 222 

XXIII.  Promotion 232 

XXIV.  Horace  gains  another  Victory 240 


INTRODUCTION. 


There  was  no  *  *  lull  "  in  the  sunset  circle  of  list- 
eners when  grandma  finished  reading  ''  Sketches  of 
Doll  Life."  What  the  young  critics  said  will  not 
interest  boys,  probably,  with  tlie  exception  of  Har- 
ry's and  Walter's  comments,  which  I  give  you. 

'  **  They  are  very  well  for  babies'  and  little  girls' 
stories,  I  dare  say,"  said  Harry,  patronizingly  ;  *'  but 
you  can't  expect  boys  to  care  about  dolls,  though  I 
like  the  part  about  Frank  well  enough." 

*'  I  didn't  listen  much,"  said  Walter.  «'  I  hope 
it  is  our  turn  now,  grandma,  and  that  you  '11  give 
us  a  jolly  soldier  story,  all  about  camp  life,  and 
fighting,   and   scrapes,   and   everything." 

**  Yes,"  said  grandma,  taking  out  quite  a  formida- 
ble-looking manuscript ;  **  I  have  written  your  soldier 
story,  not  altogether  about  soldiers  in  camp  and  on 
the  battle-field,  but  in  part  about  younger  soldiers, 
of  whom  there  are  now  so  many  thousands  at  home, 
drilling  in  school,  and  in  play,  and  at  all  times  and 


b  INTRODUCTION. 

seasons,  in  fact,  when  they  are  awake,  for  future 
active  service.  They  fight  battles,  too  ;  are  defeated 
and  disheartened,  or  are  victorious  and  encouraged. 
These  drills  and  battles  are  not  known  over  ihe  land 
by  bulletins  and  through  newspapers  ;  but  they  are 
many  of  them  as  severe  and  as  grand  battles  as  ever 
were  fought ;  their  reward  is  greater  than  the  hero's 
glory,  and  their  record  is  on  high." 

**  I  know  what  grandma  means,"  whispered  Har- 
ry to  Walter,  —  "she  means  the  battles  we  fight 
with  ourselves ;  but  I  don't  see  how  we  are  drilling 
all  the  time,  or  who  our  drill-master  is." 

* «  Hush  !  "  said  Walter ;  *  *  the  story  will  explain 
that,  perhaps." 

*'As  a  rule,"  continued  grandma,  **  I  have  not 
undertaken  to  give  localities  or  dates,  — though  both 
are  sometimes  mentioned,  — because  the  purpose  of 
my  story  did  not  require  it,  and  because  you  can  get 
facts  of  that  sort  much  better  from  those  who  have 
been  eye-witnesses  and  participators  in  what  they 
relate. 

**  After  reading  the  \dvidly  portrayed  realities  of 
such  grand  books  as  Hosmer's  *  Color  Guard,'  or 
Carleton's  *  Days  and  Xights  on  the  Battle-Field,'  I 
could  hardly  venture  to  sit  down  in  my  quiet  room, 


INTRODUCTION.  7 

and  undertake  to  give  you  an  account  of  tliat  which 
I  had  never  seen.  But  the  incidents  I  have  given 
are  all  of  thcni  facts,  or  founded  iipon  facts,  and 
as  such  must  have  an  interest  and  value  to  you. 
My  story  commences  with  an  appeal  to  the  Boys  of 
Our  Country.'^ 

*'  But,  grandma,"  said  Walter,  «'  boys '11  skip  it, 
at  least  till  they  get  through  the  book,  and  have 
found   out  what  the   story  is." 

*' Never  mind,"  answered  grandma;  **  it  will 
answer  my  purpose  just  as  well' if  they  read  it  at 
the  close  as  the  beginning  of  the  book.  As  for 
you,"  she  added,  laughing,  *'you  must  hear  it 
whether  you  will  or  no,  as  I  have  you  in  my 
power.     So    attention    all,   and  listen  to  me." 


AN    APPEAL 


TO  THE 


BOYS     OF     OUR     COUNTRY. 


My  young  friends,  boys  of  twelve  years  of  age 
and  upwards,  do  you  know  what  it  is  to  have  a 
country,  — to  live  for  it,  to  add  your  mite  of  effort 
towards  its  salvation,  in  this  its  hour  of  peril? 

Do  you  know  what  it  is  to  long  to  be  a  man, 
that  you  may  fight,  and,  if  need  be,  die  for  your 

country  ? 

Do  you  know  what  it  is  to  have  your  cheeks  flush 
and  your  hearts  glow  w^ith  loyal  zeal  as  you  look 
upon  the  beautiful  star-spangled  banner,  fighting  for 
love  of  which  many  a  brave  heart,  young  in  years, 
but  old  in  valor,  has  given  up  its  last  drop  of  blood? 

Ah,  yes  !  I  know  you  do.  I  have  seen  it  in  your 
earnest,  honest  faces ;  I  have  heard  it  in  words  of 
patriotism  that  burst  frank  and  indignant  from  your 
lips.  I  know  many  of  you  shuddered  as  you  read, 
but  a  short  time  since,  in  one  of  our  leading  periodi- 


10  AN   APPEAL. 

cals,  that  thrilling  story,  entitled,  *'  A  Man  without 
a  Countiy."  You  pitied  that  man  from  the  depths 
of  your  generous  boy  nature,  and  you  felt  almost 
indignant  when  you  found  the  story  was  fiction,  not 
fact.  You  could  hardly  believe  fiction  could  seem 
so  real,  and  you  thought  it  was  cruel  to  arouse  your 
sympathies  so  needlessly.  But  it  was  not  cruel,  nor 
needless.  The  writer  of  that  story,  a  true  lover  of 
his  country,  knew  that  fiction  would  reach  where 
grave  argument  would  not.  Perhaps  the  story  was 
not  ^vritten  for  boys  ;  but  no  matter,  —  it  has  a  les- 
son for  you  as  for  others,  and  I  think  all  of  you  who 
have  read  it  feel  more  deeply  than  before  the  price- 
less blessing  of  having  a  country. 

Yes,  you  are  boys  with  a  country,  —  and  what  a 
country  !  Your  geogi-aphies  tell  you  of  its  varied 
climate,  producing  the  fruits  of  almost  every  zone ; 
its  diversified  surface ;  its  grand  mountains  and 
peaceful  valleys  ;  it&  ice-bound  wastes,  and  its  broad 
prairies ;  its  majestic  rivers  and  inland  seas ;  of  its 
vast  resources,  its  wealth  of  mines,  and  agricultural 
products.  A  country  to  which  Xature  has  been  so 
bountiful  that  she  has  given  freely  of  the  sweet  and 
the  fatness  considered  in  Eastern  lands  so  essential 
to  luxury ;  for  her  trees  and  brakes  yield  sugar,  and 
out  of  her  secret  storehouses  bubble  weUs  of  oil. 


AN   APPEAL.  *  11 

A  country  so  abounding  in  wealth  and  resources 
that  it  has  astonished  the  civilized  world  on  the 
other  side  of  the  ocean  by  carrying  on  its  own  wars. 
A  country  whose  past  history  is  so  glorious,  and 
whose  prosperity  has  been  so  unexampled,  as  almost 
to  make  us  forget  that  not  of  our  own  might  and 
power  have  we  done  all  this.  A  country  whose  Gov- 
ernment is  so  great  a  blessing  to  all,  that  Rebellion 
Rfjainst  it  has  aroused  almost  a  whole  nation  as  one 
man. 

And  this  is  the  land  each  of  you  can  say  is 
my  country.  And  if  you  say  the  words  and  feel 
them  in  the  depth  and  breadth  of  their  meaning, 
you  are  now  fitting  yourselves  to  be  true  patriots, 
—  not  Benedict  Arnolds,  but  Washingtons ;  and 
you  will  not  be  partisans,  or  politicians,  but  you 
will  be  lovers  of  your  country ;  and  you  will  feel 
that  this  is  a  w^ar  not  of  North  and  South,  of  Lin- 
coln and  Davis,  but  "a  war  of  right  and  wrong,  and 
hence  God's  war. 

And  if  it  is  the  wish  and  settled  purpose  of  your 
heart,  as  I  know  it  is  with  some  of  you,  to  engage 
in  this  war,  if  your  services  are  needed,  when  you 
are  old  enough  to  do  so,  you  must  remember  that 
now  is  your  best  time  to  drill  for  it.  I  do  not  refer 
only  to  the  drill  most  of  you  get  in  the  military 


12  AN  APPEAL. 

companies  which  you  have  formed  for  your  amuse- 
ment, —  tibough  this  sort  of  drilling  will  be  of  great 
service  to  you,  —  but  I  refer  to  the  moral  drill  you 
must  all  pass  through  to  enable  you  to  become  true 
soldiers,  where  your  drill-master  is  the  Eternal  prin- 
ciple of  truth  and  right,  who  makes  known  his  be-% 
bests  to  you  through  the  voice  of  conscience.  Obe- 
dience to  this  voice  will  oblige  you  to  fight  many 
hard  battles ;  but  it  will  be  your  best  preparation 
not  only  for  a  soldier's  life,  but  for  that  blessed  time 
when  peace  shall  once  more  prevail,  and  but  one 
banner,  even  the  star-spangled  one,  shall  wave  over 
the  whole  length  and  breadth  of  our  land  ! 

My  story  commences  in  the  early  autumn  of  1860, 
before  Abraham  Lincoln's  election  to  the  Presidency 
was  a  fixed  fact,  and  while  the  political  world  was 
seething  and  boiling,  and  passing  through  throes  and 
convulsions,  and  unnatural  comminglings,  which  re- 
mind one  of  the  witch's  caldron  in  Macbeth.  And 
who  can  fail  to  see  in  Hecate's  answer  to  the  foul 
spirits  she  commanded,  the  counterpart  of  the  com- 
mendation given  by  the  leadmg  men  of  that  period 
to  their  tools  and  servants,  — 

*'  0,  well  done !    I  commend  your  pains, 
And  every  one  shall  share  i'  the  gains." 


ECHOES  FROM  THE  GUN  OF  1861. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THREE   BROTHERS. 

**  But  you  will  study,  Thornton?" 

**  Study?  Yes,  when  I'm  in  the  mood  for  it,  if 
that  ever  happens  ;  but  let 's  come  to  an  understand- 
ing, Jolmny  dear.  If  I  am  a  lazy  dog,  as  all  agree, 
I  'm  no  hypocrite  ;  and  I  '11  tell  you,  my  father-con- 
fessor, and  brother  St.  John,  just  what  I  mean  to 
do ;  that  is,  so  far  as  such  a  floating  straw  as  I  am 
can  be  said  to  have  any  purpose  in  life.  I  'm  going 
out  to  *  Old  Kentuck,'  to  have  a  good  time  gener- 
ally. Now  don't  look  as  if  I  was  about  to  commit 
all  the  crimes  in  the  decalogue.  I  scorn  low  vices, 
as  you  well  know,  —  and,  thanks  to  good  influence 
at  home,  I  'm  inclined  to  good  rather  than  evil ;  but 
here  I  am,  a  good-looking  fellow  of  eighteen,  with 
an  average  education,  for  my  years,  plenty  of  money 
in  my  own  right,  —  thanks  to  Uncle  Thornton  Les- 
ter,—  I'm  not  boasting,  only  telling  facts,  you 
know,  with  lots  of  time  to  settle  down  to  the  work 


14  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

of  life  you  are  always  talking  about,  and  doing,  too. 
So  I  'm  just  going  to  have  a  right  good  time  on  Os- 
car's plantation  this  winter,  take  an  observation  of 
life  and  society  in  the  Southwest,  and  then, — why, 
then,  I  '11  promise  to  look  about  In  earnest,  and  settle 
down  to  a  work-a-day  life.  Will  this  suit  you, 
Johnny  boy?  I  hope  so,  for  really  I 'm  exhausted 
defining  my  position." 

"  I  suppose  It  must.  Thorny,  only  It  seems  a  dan- 
gerous experiment  for  one  of  your  temperament. 
You  don't  love  to  study  nor  to  work  ;  will  you  like 
either  any  better  after  six  months  or  more  of  idle 
care  ?  " 

**  Can't  say,  Johnny;  but  I'm  bound  to  try  the 
experiment.  Now  don't  look  so  grave  because  I 
can't  see  life  out  of  your  conscientious  blue  eyes.  I 
shall  be  a  *  right  smart  chance  of  a  man  '  yet ;  there's 
the  *  makln's '  of  one  In  me,  —  I  feel  that  Intuition 
sure,  —  not  that  I  care  much  about  being  anybody 
but  just  good,  easy-going  Thornton  Lester  Grey, 
^vlth  plenty  of  money  and  plenty  of  fiiends,  and  a 
mother  and  brother,  either  of  whom  are  good  enough 
to  cover  up  my  sins,  and  carry  me  straight  through 
purgatory  to  paradise,  but  just  for  this  reason,  John- 
ny :  no  fellow  with  any  heart  at  all  could  resist  for- 
ever the  example  and  persuasions  of  two  such  persons 
as  mother  and  yourself.  So,  now,  let  a  fellow  alone, 
and  be  sure  and  be  a  good  boy  yourself  this  winter 
that  Is  coming ;  and  just  practise  the  reverse  of  all 


ECHOES-  FROM  THE  GUN  OF  ISC  1.       15 

the  good  advice  you  gave  me, — dmiH  study  too 
hard,  do  lounge  upon  the  sofa,  &c.  &c.  You're 
a  good  old  chap,  after  all,  and  rightly  named  St. 
John.  Anybody  else  would  be  puffed  up  with 
conceit  between  two  brothers  such  as  you  have,  — 
a  ne'er-do-well,  like  myself,  and  the  incarnation  of 
mischief  and  deviltry,  like  Horace.  There 's  the 
scamp  now." 

And  there  he  was,  sure  enough ;  for  the  door  of 
the  library  where  the  brothers  were  sitting  opened 
with  a  jerk,  and  closed  with  a  bang,  and  with  a 
loud,  **  Hollo,  old  Sleepy  Hollow!  here's  the 
candy  woman,  —  give  me  the  two  shillings  you 
promised !  "  Master  Horace  stood,  poised  on  one 
leg,  beside  Thornton's  lounge.  After  receiving  the 
promised  money,  he  raised  his  voice  to  the  highest 
pitch  in  that  fashionable   chorus  — 

**  Bully  for  you  I  O,  bully,  bully  for  you  !  You  're 
a  regular  trump.  Thorn.     Bully  for  —  Oi,  O,  O  !'* 

This  sudden  interpolation  was  called  forth  by  a 
rap  from  Thornton ;  and  the  prolonged  yell  of  min- 
gled fun  and  vexation  which  followed,  brought 
another  actor  on  the  stage,  in  the  person  of  ^Ir. 
Grey.  The  door  which  opened  to  admit  him  also 
permitted  the  escape  of  Horace.  It  was  made  after 
his  own  fiishion.  Stooping  down,  he  turned  a 
somerset  into  the  hall,  and  progressed  in  the  same 
manner  through  it  and  down  a  dark  passage  into 
the  back  premises  of  the  house,  jostling  against  his 


16  ECHOES  FROM   THE   GUN   OF    1861. 

Aunt  Esther  on  his  way,  putting  one  hand  upon  and 
almost  crushing  Margaret's  pet  kitten,  and  causing 
her  to  mew  out  most  piteously,  and  finally  knocking 
over  a  small  girl  waiting  in  the  hall.  Arrived  at 
the  kitchen,  he  startled  the  candy  woman  with  a 
loud  — 

* '  Here 's  the  ready  !  give  us  your  saccharine  com- 
pound, Mother  Sweety  ;  and  good  weight,  too  !  " 

After  this  little  interlude,  the  brothers  were  silent 
for  some  time.  Thornton  rechned  lazily  upon  a 
lounge,  pulling  the  tassels  of  a  sofa  pillow;  while 
St.  John  sat  at  a  table,  his  head  resting  upon  his 
hand,  and  an  anxious  expression  upon  his  face.  He 
looked  the  elder  of  the  two,  and  far  more  mature ; 
but  this  was  doubtless  owing  in  a  great  measure  to 
the  habits  of  his  life.  An  injury  received  in  early 
childhood  had  resulted  in  a  permanent  lameness, 
and  threw  him  much  upon  mental  resources.  EQs 
sad  look  caught  Thornton's  eye,  and  he  said  — 

*'  What  a  shame,  Johnny,  you  should  be  lame, 
and  I  sound  in  limb,  when  you  would  so  revel  in 
freedom  of  body,  and  I  would  quite  as  lief  spend 
two  thirds  of  my  time  lounging  as  not." 

*'  I  don't  agree  with  you,  Thorny,"  said  St.  John, 
smiling.  "You  certainly  never  would  have  been 
good  for  anything  if  you  had  had  the  excuse  of 
lameness  for  your  laziness,  while  I  should  probably 
have  out-Horaced  Horace  had  I  been  free  to  go  and 
come  as  I  liked.    I  declare  to  you,  Thornton,  I  have 


ECHOES   FROM  THE   GUN   OF   1861.  17 

an  intense  sympathy  with  that  boy's  life  and  spirits, 
and  always  pity  him  when  he  gets  into  disgrace,  and 
I  feel  as  if  I  was  a  hypocrite  to  be  thought  so  good 
and  correct,  when  it 's  only  circumstances  that  have 
made  me  better  behaved  than  he  is." 

**  Well,  that's  being  conscientious  with  a  witness  I 
Circumstances  may  have  made  you  inactive  in  body, 
but  none  that  I  can  imagine  would  ever  have  taken 
the  saint  out  of  your  heart,  and  put  —  well,  mischief 
into  it,  or  slang  phrases  into  your  mouth.  By  the 
way,  that  same  Master  Circumstance  who  has  done 
so  much  for  you,  may  take  me  in  hand  yet.  Who 
knows  but  Oscar  may  be  right,  and  that  Southern 
talk  is  not  all  braggadocio,  and  that  we  may  yet  see 
fi  o-hting  in  our  land  of  peace  and  plenty  if  *  Old 
Abe  '  is  elected  President  ?  That  would  be  circum- 
stances with  a  vengeance,  and  would  make  or  mar  a 
nation.     Imagine  me  a  soldier  boy,  Johnny  !  " 

And  with  these  words,  he  rose  and  stood  erect, 
his  fine  face  lighted  up  with  momentary  enthusiasm, 
and  his  bearing  that  of  one  every  inch  a  man.  Mo- 
mentary it  was,  however,  for  he  did  not  believe  there 
was  any  danger  of  a  coming  conflict ;  for,  although 
there  were  the  gathering  clouds  and  the  distant  mut- 
terings  which  foreshadowed  the  future  tempest,  few 
read  the  signs  of  the  times  aright ;  and  Thornton 
Grey's  conjecture  was  but  a  passing  thought. 

j\Ir.  Grey,  father  of  the  three  brothers  whom  I 
have  so  unceremoniously  introduced  to  my  readers, 


18  ECHOES   FROM  THE   GUN  OF   1861. 

was  a  rich  merchant  in  New  York,  residing  during 
most  of  the  year  in  a  pleasant,  attractive  home  on 
the  Hudson  Kiver,  some  miles  from  the  city.  He 
had  not  retired  from  business,  simply  because  his 
active  habits  precluded  the  possibility  of  his  doing  so 
while  he  had  health  and  strength. 

Mrs.  Grey  was  a  woman  of  refinement  and  cul- 
ture, and  a  true,  self-sacrificing  wife  and  mother. 
The  other  members  of  the  family,  beside  the  broth- 
ers, Thornton,  St.  John,  and  Horace,  were  Esther 
St.  John,  Mrs.  Grey's  sister,  and  Margaret  Duncan, 
an  orphan  ward  of  Mr.  Grey's,  a  young  girl  of  fif- 
teen. Oscar,  the  eldest  son,  had  married  the  heiress 
of  a  large  plautation  situated  on  the  Ohio  River,  in 
Kentucky. 

You  hear  a  great  deal  about  representative  men, 
and  such  are  held  up  to  you  as  warnings,  or  exam- 
ples, as  the  case  maybe.  lam  proud  to  believe  Mr. 
Grey's  to  be  a  representative  family,  —  representa- 
tive of  the  grand  ideas,  and  grander  lives,  that  the 
fire  of  purification  which  our  country  is  passing 
through  has  evoked  into  being.  It  is  their  glori- 
ous privilege  to  aj)pear  upon  the  broad  stage  of  life 
in  one  of  the  grandest  and  most  eventful  periods  of 
any  nation's  history.  May  it  be  mine  to  give  a  faint 
idea  of  noble  qualities  of  character,  aroused  to  action 
by  the  great  alarum  which  sounded  through  the  land,  • 
from  one  extreme  to  the  other,  in  April,  1861. 


CHAPTER  II. 

CIRCUMSTANCES. 

The  brothers  were  again  interrupted  by  Horace's 
entrance,  but  this  time  he  came  shrinking  in,  cap  in 
hand,  with  an  odd  expression  upon  his  face,  and 
strange  to  relate  did  not  speak  a  word  till  St.  John 
said,  **  What's  the  matter,  Horace?" 

**  Matter  enough;  here's  a  pretty  go.  It  isn't 
bad  enough  that  Tom  Bower's  mother  must  be  sick, 
and  all  the  family  have  to  be  packed  off  to  Europe, 
but  ^Ir.  Vernon  must  needs  come  and  take  the  place, 
lie 's  got  a  boy  just  about  my  age,  deformed  so'  that 
he  can't  walk  at  all,  and  what  do  you  think?  I  was 
tearing  through  the  park  just  now,  with  Caesar  after 
me,  and  between  us  we  upset  him  in  his  little  hand- 
carriage,  and  his  head  got  cut  quite  badly.  I  helped 
the  man  who  was  drawing  him  get  him  to  the  house, 
and  there  I  saw  Mr.  Vernon,  and  he  said  he  and  my 
father  were  good  friends,  and  he  hoped  we  boys 
should  be  too.     Bother  the  luck,  I  say." 

**  Can't  say  that  I  quite  see  the  relation  between 
cause  and  effect  this  time,  scapegrace,"  said  Thorn- 


20  ECHOES  FROM  THE   GUN  OF   1861. 

ton.  **  I  don't  suppose  you  are  obliged  to  be  friends 
with  this  youncfster  unless  you  choose  to  be." 

*'  You  might  see  it  if  you  'd  ever  take  the  trouble 
to  think,  Thornton,"  replied  the  boy,  indignantly.  St. 
John  knows  just  what  I  mean.  Do  you  think  I  'm 
such  a  mean  chap  as  to  knock  over  a  poor  lame  boy 
that  can't  use  his  legs  at  all,  and  almost  break  open 
his  scull,  and  then  never  go  near  him,  or  try  to  do 
anything  for  him  ?  Guess  you  would  n't  if  you  'd 
seen  his  yellow  curls  and  white  face  all  sprinkled 
with  blood,  —  ugh,  it  makes  me  sick  to  think  of  it." 

Thornton  was  touched  at  the  boy's  evident  feeling  ; 
but  he  did  n't  choose  to  let  him  see  it  just  then  ;  so  he 
answered,  "  a  lucky  circumstance  for  you,  Hor.  A 
wild,  rough  boy,  your  senior  and  evil  adviser  steps  off 
the  stage,  and  presto,  —  on  glides  your  good  genius, 
in  the  shape  of  a  gentle  sickly  child.  O  I  see  it 
all,  —  yoir  reform  in  your  manners,  always  take  off 
your  cap  when  you  come  into  the  room  where  ladies 
are,  bow  to  and  shake  hands  with  mother's  visitors, 
let  Margaret  and  her  kitten  be  at  peace,  hold  aunt 
Esther's  cotton  and  yarn  for  her ;  in  short,  become  a 
pattern  boy  after  the  manner  of  Mrs.  Nonesuch's. 
(*  My  boys  never  do  so  and  so.') 

<*Then  the  invalid  gains  from  you  some  of  your 
superfluous  spirits,  and  so,  all  through  circumstances, 
we  get  a  pattern  boy,  and  Mr.  Vernon  a  happier 
son." 

**  You  may  laugh  as  much  as  you  like,  Thornton," 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN    OF    18G1.  21 

said  Horace,  quickly,  '*  but  don't  hold  up  to  nie 
tho^e  ^'onesuch  boys.  I  wish  their  mother  could  see 
them  kick,  and  pinch,  and  spit  in  the  servants'  faces, 
and  knOw  the  mean  tricks  they're  up  to,  out  of  her 
sight ;  such  as  lying,  reading  lessons  off  books, 
stealing  candy  and  pencils.  But  St.  John,  whatever 
am  I  to  do  about  this  business  ?  " 

*'  Thornton  is  right,  Horace.  I  dare  say  it  will  be 
a  lucky  circumstance  for  you.  It  will  draw  out  the 
feelings  of  your  kind  heart ;  you  can  do  so  many 
things  for  the  boy.  You,  such  a  stout,  strong  fel- 
low, and  he  so  weak  and  youtig.  I  '11  go  with  you 
to-morrow  to  see  him,  and  after  that  I  dare  say  you'll 
not  mind  going  by  yourself.  As  for  Tom  Bowers," 
he  added,  with  a  quizzical  look,  "  I  wish. him  a  pleas- 
ant voyage." 

*«  You  are  the  best  kind  of  a  fellow,  St.  John,  to 
help  a  chap  like  me  out  of  this  scrape  ;  guess  I  can 
behave  under  your  wing,  though  I  don't  much  fancy 
this  sort  of  thing  ;  goody  boys  ain't  much  in  my  line. 
I  '11  go  and  look  over  some  games  to  carry  to  him. 
No,  I  '11  run  down  to  Hyde's  first,  to  do  that  errand 
for  mother,  I  forgot  this  morning.  Here  Caes, — 
where  are  you,  old  Conqueror?  Guess  we've  crossed 
the  Rubicon  to-day,  and  are  in  for  it  good  or  bad, 
fun  or  no  fun." 

And  off  he  ran  followed  by  Ctesar,  boy  and  dog 
vicing  with  each  other  as  to  which  should  be  the 
noisiest. 


22  ECHOES   FROM   THE  t}UN   OF   1861. 

*'Ifyou  have,  as  you  say,  Thornton,  tlie  *  mak- 
ings* of  a  man  in  you,  I'm  sure  Horace  has,  too." 

*'  Yes,  yes,  he  has  more  heart  than  I  thought. 
How  pale  he  looked  when  he  spoke  of  the  blood  !  I 
answered  him  as  I  did  because  I  was  afraid  he  'd 
break  down,  and  he 's  just  the  boy  to  think  it  a  great 
weakness  if  he  did." 

Thornton  spent  the  winter,  as  he  proposed,  with 
his  brother  Oscar.  The  effect  of  that  winter  upon 
his  character  will  appear  incidentally  in  the  progress 
of  my  story.  An  extract  from  the  commencement 
of  his  journal,  kept  while  there,  because  he  promise^ 
St.  John  he  would  do  so,  and  one  at  the  close,  will 
give  some  idea  of  the  change  in  his  feelings,  caused 
by  circumstances. 

October,  1860.  "  I  am  delighted  with  every- 
thing in  this  beautiful  region  ;  with  this  grand  rolling 
country,  its  lofty  woods  and  broad  flowing  river  with- 
out, and  the  hearty  hospitality  within ;  with  my 
brother's  pretty  wife  and  her  charming  southern  man- 
ners. I  must  own  this  is  a  life  after  my  own  heart. 
Late  to  bed  and  later  to  rise ;  social  visiting ;  none 
of  your  formal  parties,  but  an  unceremonious  drop- 
ping in  to  spend  day  or  night,  plenty  of  servants, 
respectful  and  well  trained,  hunting,  riding,  and 
driving,  on  fine  days ;  smoking,  chatting,  lounging 
or  reading,  on  dull  ones.  No  study  yet.  N.  B. 
Not  in  the  mood  for  it.     O  Johnnv,  Johnny,  what 


ECHOES   FKOM   THE    C  CN   OF    18G1.  23 

will  you   say?      And    yet    if  *  the   proper  study  of 
mankind,  is  man/  1  'm  not  altogether  idle." 

April,  l^iJl.  "  I  can  scarcely  believe  my  own 
eyes.  When  I  went  <lown  stairs  this  morning,  I  saw 
over  the  glass  in  the  sitting-room,  a  large  cockade 
of  red,  white,  and  red ;  and  this  after  yesterday's 
news  from  Fort  Sumter!  Home,  home  to-night, 
where  I  shall  find  loyal  hearts,  and,  God  willing,  my 
work  too." 

*'  Speed  Malise,  speed " 

*  *  *  * 

♦*The  muster-place  be  Laurie  Mead. 
Instant  the  time.     Speed  Malise,  speed." 


CHAPTER  in. 

THORNTON  AROUSED  AT  LAST. 

I  MUST  again  bring  my  young  friends  into  Mr. 
Grey's  library  where  the  whole  family  are  gathered, 
including  Thornton,  who  has  just  returned  from 
Kentucky.  He  is  giving  an  account  of  his  journey 
home,  and  we  will  listen  with  the  family  circle  and 
hear  what  he  has  to  relate. 

'*  Yes,  father,  I  left  Mulberry  Grove,  the  14th, 
for  Louisville,  intending  to  start  for  home  that  very 
night.  But  owing  I  suppose  to  the  state  of  sup- 
pressed excitement  I  had  been  in  for  weeks,  when  1 
arrived  at  our  good  friend's  Mr.  Woodford's  I  was 
really  sick.  He  sent  me  to  bed  at  once,  and  for 
some  days  I  was  forced  to  stay  there.  Just  imagine 
me  chained  to  a  sick-bed,  my  mind  in  a  perfect  chaos 
of  feeling,  and  a  furor  of  excitement  raging  in  the 
city.  My  friends  could  not  keep  the  state  of  things 
from  me,  for  no  one  felt  any  security,  in  going  to  bed 
at  night,  that  there  might  not  be  some  violent  out- 
break before  morning,  for  though  as  true  and  loyal 
hearts  beat  in  Louisville  as  elsewhere  in  the  Union, 


ECHOES   FROM  THE   GUN  OF   1861.  25 

the  strengtli  of  the  opposing  element  was  not  known. 
Or  rather  it  was  known  that  there  were  in  the  city  at 
that  time  many  determined,  reckless  spirits,  among 
them  I  beheve  isome  of  that  most  chivalric  band. 
Knights  of  the  Golden  Circle,  and  who  only  needed 
a  resolute  leader  to  do  a  vast  amount  of  mis.chief. 
Our  friend  too  might  be  a  marked  man,  not  only  for 
his  known  loyalty  to  the  Government,  but  for  his  in- 
terest in  every  cause  of  humanity.  In  case  of  diffi- 
culty I  should  only  be  a  hindrance,  so  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  start  for  home  as  soon  as  I  could  safely  do 
so.  As  readily  and  kindly  as  I  had  been  received 
and  cared  for,  I  was  helped  to  get  off,  for  both  Mr. 
and  jNIrs.  AVoodford  knew  how  impatient  I  was. 

**  But,"  said  Mr.  Grey,  *' you  have  not  told  us 
how  you  left  Oscar  and  his  wife  affected  at  this 
change  of  affairs.  Lina,  I  suppose,  with  her  South- 
ern education,  prejudices,  and  interests  might  incline 
to  excuse  the  South ;  but  Oscar,  I  cannot  imagine 
him,  a  Northerner,  and  my  son,  to  have  any  sympathy 
with  the  South,  or  to  take  but  one  view  of  the 
matter." 

*'  Pie  has  but  one  view  of  it,  father,"  replied  Thorn- 
ton, bitterly  ;  **  what  that  view  is  will  appear  when  I 
tell  you  that,  the  morning  I  left,  a  red,  white,  and 
red  cockade  was  put  up  over  the  glass  in  the  family 
sitting-room,  and  that  Lina  appeared  at  the  breakfast- 
table  with  a  breast-knot  of  the  same  colors.  Our 
parting  was  none  too  brotherly,  for  I  had  swallowed 


26  ECHOES   FKOM   THE   GUN   OF   1861. 

my  anger  and  indignation  so  often,  had  forborne  and 
kept  silence  till  forbearance  and  silence  seemed  no 
longer  a  virtue,  that  in  reply  to  Oscar's  dignified  ad- 
vice that  I  should  not  degrade  myself  by  herding 
with  Yankee  pedlers  and  Northern  abolitionists  to 
sustain  a  rail-splitting  President,  I  gave  him  not  a 
piece,  but  the  whole  of  my  mind  upon  the  subject. 
I  scorned,  however,  to  notice  his  fling  at  our  Presi- 
dent, farther  than  to  say  that  the  world  would  pro- 
nounce judgment  upon  him,  and  that  it  was  not  for 
Northerner  or  Southerner  to  say  this  or  that.  The 
verdict  was  to  pass  to  a  broader  tribunal  than  ours ; 
that  I  hoped  I  should  be  found  worthy  to  fight  side  by 
side  with  the  rank  and  fife  of  my  countrymen,  in  the 
cause  of  my  country.  That  was  my  cause  and  the 
cause  of  every  loyal  heart  in  the  land." 

At  this  moment,  while  Thornton  paused  for  breath, 
Horace,  who  had  been  listening  with  evident  interest, 
but  at  the  same  time  with  an  amused  look  of  aston- 
ishment, cried  out,  '*  Bully  for  you.  Thorn;  three 
cheers  and  a  tiger  for  the  chap  that  speaks  his  mind." 
Then  going  towards  him  and  looking  at  him  from 
head  to  foot,  he  added,  ««I  say,  is  this  old  Sleepy 
Hollow? 

*  If  this  be  I,  as  sure  it  cannot  be, 
M7  little  dog  Tray  '11  know  me.' 

**Here,  Cass,  old  boy,  come  and  see  if  this  is 
Thorn.     Yes,  all  right,  go  ahead." 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF   18G1.  27 

All  laughed  at  this  most  unexpected  interruption, 
and  Mrs.  Grey  said  it  was  the  step  ffom  the  sublime 
to  the  ridiculous ;  and  Thornton  good-naturedly  an- 
swered, ''I  don't  wonder  you r'e  surprised,  Horace. 
I  'm  astonislied  at  myself.     It 's  the  latent  St.  John 
element  coming  out  at  last,  in  part  I  suppose  but  not 
entirely.     There's  a  spirit  abroad  in  the  land   one 
must   be  a   heartless,   witless   fellow   to   withstand, 
AVhy,  my  journey  home  has  been  a  grand  triumphal 
procession.     The  only  trouble  was,  steam  was   too 
slow^  for  us.     AVe  should  have  travelled  on  the  tel- 
egraph wires,  only  they  would  n't  accommodate  us; 
but  I  must  tell  you  of  tlie  journey.      Such  a  perfect 
spring  morning  as  it  was  when  I  left  Louisville  to 
cross  to  Jeffersonville  to  take  the  cars  to  Cincinnati ! 
It  was  one  of  those  mornings  when  Xature  was  so 
lovely  and  peaceful,  with  all  her  fair  promise  of  fu- 
ture growth  and  beauty,  that  it  was  hard  to  realize 
how  disturbed  men's  minds  w^ere  ;  yet  you  read  it  in 
every  face.    AVhile  we  were  crossing  on  a  slow  ferry- 
boat which  sidled  over  la  Belle  Riviere  at  the  rate  ap- 
parently of  one  step  back  to  two  forward,  it  was  amus- 
ing to    watch  the  impatient  looks    of  some  of  the 
passengers.     One  tall,  rough-looking  backwoodsman 
halloed  to  a  passing  craft,  "  I  say,  shipmate,  could  n't 
you  give  this  ere  craft  a  shove  across  the  river.    I  'm 
going  home  to  list,  but  reckon  old  Abe  '11  'bout  have 
the  fight  settled  up  'fore  I  git  thar." 

However,  w^e   did    get  across  at  last,  and,  once 


28  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN  OF   1861. 

started  in  the  cars,  the  pace  of  the  iron-horse  was  a 
little  more  suited  to  our  feelings,  though,  as  I  said, 
all  too  slow. 

I  had  seen  flags  waving  in  Louisville,  and  the 
grand  national  colors  appearing  in  shop  windows,  in 
knots  and  bows  for  ladies  dresses  and  children's  uni- 
forms, but  I  hardly  looked  to  see  such  a  display  of 
flags  of  all  sizes  and  material  as  greeted  our  eyes  as 
we  steamed  along  in  sight  at  times  of  the  Ohio  River. 
For  vessel,  boat,  or  steamboat  to  be  without  the  flag 
was  the  exception,  and  the  nearer  we  drew  towards 
Cincinnati  the  thicker  we  saw  them,  from  steeple 
and  belfrey,  mansion-house  or  hut;  now  floating 
broad  and  full  to  the  breeze,  and  again  so  simple  and 
unpretending  you  could  hardly  see  the  red,  white, 
and  blue. 

As  I  saw  these  beautiful  colors  over  and  over 
aorain,  till  evervthinsr  seemed  almost  as  if  seen 
through  a  red,  white,  and  blue  medium,  their  signif- 
icance flashed  through  my  mind.  Red,  the  very  hue 
of  the  lifeblood  so  many  would  erelong  give  up  to 
their  country;  white,  the  emblem  of  purity, — hence 
of  truth  and  right ;  blue,  heaven's  own  color. 

Well,  the  end  of  all  this  excited  state  of  feeling, 
for  I  'm  not  used  to  thinking  and  talking  as  St.  John 
is,  you  know,  irdon't  come  naturally,  but  by  inocu- 
lation, the  end  of  it  was  a  raging  headache,  which 
sent  me  to  bed  when  I  got  to  Cincinnati. 

I  was  vexed  enouo^h  at  the  time  at  the  detention, 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    1861. 


29 


but  glad  when  morning  came  and  I  got  up  bright  and 
welU  and  still  more  glad  when  I  found  that  part  of 
an  Ohio  regiment  were  to  be  our  companions  for 
some  distance.  Just  now  no  one  travels  except  from 
business  or  necessity,  and  there  were  not  many  pas- 
sengers in  our  car,  so  the  soldiers  filed  in  one  after 
the°other,  in  their  new  uniforms,  bright  equipments, 
with  an  expression  on  their  earnest,  manly  faces  tha,t 
did  me  good  to  see.  Some  had  wreaths  upon  their 
arms,  others  a  knot  of  the  loyal  colors  in  a  button- 
hole, and  others  still  carefully  held  bouquets,  all  of 
which  I  suppose  were  parting  tokens  from  wife,  sis- 
ter, or  one  dearer  than  sister.  I  sat  for  a  while  on 
the  seat  with  their  superior  officer,  a  man  about  fifty 
years  of  age,  and,  as  I  should  judge,  an  educated 
and  professional  man.  He  said  Ohio  had  responded 
bravely  to  the  President's  call ;  she  had  ^iven  of  her 
best,  and  that  thousands  more  were  ready  and  willing 
to  go  if  needed.  This  regiment,  he  said,  were  of  a 
superior  class  of  young  men ;  that  they  were  from 
eighteen  to  twenty-five  years  of  age,  some  few  older, 
some  of  them  married,  and  that  all  had  left  study  or 
profitable  business  to  enlist. 

I  had  been  so  intent  before  we  started  in  looking  at 
the  soldiers,  that  I  noticed  nothing  else,  and  w^as  quite 
startled  when  we  were  fairly  on  the  way,  at  the 
demonstration  which  greeted  us,  and  which  followed 
us  for  two  or  three  miles  out  of  the  city.  Women 
waved  their  handkerchiefs  from  every  door,  window, 
3* 


30  ECHOES    FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

and  yard.  Men  and  boys  took  off  tbelr  hats  and 
with  hurrahs  and  shouts  expressed  their  last  good 
wishes,  and  children  of  both  sexes  waved  miniature 
flags.  It  was  as  if  we  were  a  conquering  army,  so 
great  seemed  the  jubilee  !  " 

''Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Grey;  "you  saw  the  signs 
of  jubilee  ;  you  did  not  see  the  sad  and  tearful  faces 
yon  left  behind." 

"  No,  mother,  and  I  don't  think  the  boys  thought 
much  of  it,  either.  One  idea  had  the  mastery,  one 
idea  beamed  from  their  frank,  determined  faces,  and 
found  utterance  from  their  lips,  —  devotion  to  the 
death  to  their  country's  service.  By  and  by,  in  the 
toilsome  march  and  the  tedious  camp  life,  they  will 
think  of  those  they  left  grieving  at  home.  I  was 
sorry  enough  when  we  parted  with  them.  I  dare 
say  my  account  seems  very  tame,  but  it  was  grand 
to  see,  as  you  might  suppose,"  he  added,  laugh- 
ingly, to  St.  John,  "since  it  has  broken  the  spell 
which  bound  the  enchanted  knight.  Now  I  am 
fairly  entitled  to  a  lounge  on  my  old  couch.  Don't 
I  look  natural,  now  Thornton's  himself  again  ?  -  If 
you  please,  good  friends,  I  '11  listen  to  you  now." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

AVISHES   AKD   PLANS. 

For  a  few  moments  no  one  spoke.  St.  John's 
flashinn^  eye  and  flushed  cheek  told  liow  heartily  he 
entered  into  his  brother's  enthusiasm.  Mrs.  Grey 
looked  fondly  and  sadly  upon  her  son,  knowini^  full 
well  the  sacrifice  that  was  about  to  be  demanded  of 
her.  Mr.  Grey  walked  back  and  forth  in  the  library, 
his  countenance  ojrave  almost  to  sternness.  INIarsra- 
ret  wiped  away  the  silent  tears  that  she  could  not 
keep  back,  and  Horace  sat  tilting  his  chair  most  pre- 
cariously, evidently  thinking  very  deeply  for  him. 
Miss  St.  John,  who  had  been  knitting  w^hile  Thorn- 
ton was  talking,  continued  her  occupation.  She  had 
not  spoken  at  all,  but  her  face  had  undergone  curious 
transformations  of  alternate  contempt,  pride..  Indig- 
nation, and  triumph  as  her  nephew  proceeded.  She 
now  broke  the  silence  by  laying  her  work  in  her  lap 
and  exclaiming,  emphatically,  **I  wish  I  was  a 
man." 

Xow  the  expression  of  this  wish  was  so  common 
with  Aunt  Esther  that  usually  no  one  noticed  it, 
unless  it  might  be  Horace,  in  some  saucy  aside  to 


32         ,       ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

Margaret,  sucli  as  he  wished  so  too,  and  then  she 
would  n't  be  spying  upon  him  all  the  time.  But  she 
spoke  now  with  so  much  feeling  that  Mr.  Grey  said, 
"Take  heart,  Esther;  your  work  is  coming.  If  I 
do  not  mistake,  women  will  have  a  work  to  do  in 
this  war  as  grand  as  any,  and  that  soon." 

''  Yes,  yes,  I  know,  —  to  stay  at  home  to  endure, 
to  be  tortured  with  anxiety,  to  weep  while  their  near- 
est and  dearest  are  suflferinGr  and  dvino^.  That 's  not 
my  work  ;  I  'm  neither  patient  nor  good  enough  for 
it." 

*' There  will  be  other  work  for  you,  Esther, — 
work  that  will  try  the  stoutest  heart  and  nerve  of 
man  or  woman.  The  hospital  which  follows  surely 
in  the  wake  of  war,  will  give  you  horrors  enough. 
For  the  rest,"  he  added,  smiling,  '*  you  have  the  mis- 
fortune to  be  a  woman,  and  I  see  no  remedy  for  it." 

**  The  hospital  will  do  I  suppose  for  want  of  any- 
thing better  and  more  stirring,  only  how  can  I  wait? 
I  should  like  a  chance  at  the  enemy  as  some  of  the 
Revolutionary  women  had.  I  should  like  to  fight 
these  unnatural  monsters  who  got  up  this  Rebellion. 
I  wish  T  bad  been  in  Baltimore  when  the  villains 
fired  upon  ihe  brave  Massachusetts  Sixth.  But  as  to 
sitting  here  at  home  coddling  myself,  and  knitting  or 
even  sewing  for  the  soldiers,  I  can't  do  it  when  our 
liberties  and  our  Government  are  in  danger.  I  never 
have  been  over-fond  of  -'woman's  rights"  women, 
but  it  seems  hard  to  me,  now,  that  when  I  should 


ECHOES   FROM   TIIE    GUN   OF    18G1.  33 

like  to  figlit,  and  could  fight  too  with  any  man  of 
them  all,  I  must  stay  at  home  and  be  nothing  but  a 
cross-grained  old  maid,  grinding  my  own  heart  out ; 
for  truer  words  never  spake  poet  than  these  :  — 

"  A  millstone  apd  the  human  heart  are  driven  ever  round ; 
If  they  have  notliing  else  to  grind,  they  must  themselves  be 
ground." 

<*  Well,  auntie,"  said  Thornton,  "  as  father  says, 
you  '11  soon  have  better  work  than  that  to  do  ;  and  as 
for  being  crose-grained,  why  you'll  nurse  me  mo5t 
tenderly  yet  in  the  hospital;  and  for  the  matter  of 
that,  the  Rebels  too,  if  they  need  your  nursing." 

"  The  Kebels,  never.  Never;  if  I  know  my  own 
heart  there 's  not  a  particle  of  kindness  or  charity  for 
them  in  it ;  yourself,  yes,  if  you  need  it." 

**  You  are  going  to  the  war,  then  ?"  said  Mr.  Grey 
to  Thornton.      *'  A  superfluous  question,  however." 

*'  I  should  think  so,  sir.  I  stopped  at  a  recruiting 
office  on  my  way  through  the  city,  and  enlisted  for 
myself  or  a  substitute ;  the  latter  was  a  form  till  I 
could  get  the  consent  from  you  I  was  sure  of." 

*'  So  soon,"  was  all  Mrs.  Grey  could  say. 

**  Yes,  mother;  I  knew  you  could  not  hold  me 
back." 

**  And  father,"  please  let  me  go  as  drummer-boy," 
said  Horace,  emboldened  to  make  the  request  he  had 
been  pondering  during  his  tilts  back  and  forth  upon 
his  chair,  by  the  ready  acquiescence  of  his  parents  iu 


34  ECHOES  FROM  THE   GUN   OF   1861. 

Thornton's  plans.  Rub  a  club,  rub  a  dub,  dub,  dub ; 
that'll  be  jolly.      Say,  father,  mayn't  I  go." 

'*  I  should  think  not;  certainly  not,  till  you  have 
drummed  a  little  more  steadiness  into  yourself.  It 
would  be  rather  unfortunate  if  you  should  throw 
down  your  drum  and  run  into  the  woods  after  squir- 
rels, or  to  recreate  yourself  with  standing  on  your 
head  or  turning  somersets." 

«*  By  the  way,  Hor,"  said  Thornton,  observing  the 
black  expression  of  Horace's  face  ;  ' '  What 's  become 
of  little  Verner?  What's  his  name,  IJerbert?  Did 
he  prove  a  goody  boy,  as  you  feared  he  would  ?  " 

* '  He  goody  ?  why  he 's  a  trump  ;  a  face  card  ;  high, 
low,  jack,  and  the  game,  altogether ;  as  spunky,  as 
peppery  as  Bob  Sims,  as  merry  as  merry  can  be,  and 
as  good  as  —  St.  John." 

"  What  rare  combination  of  qualities.  Pray,  how 
do  pepper  versus  pepper  agree  ?  " 

*'  O,  when  he's  mad  I'm  good  as  mother's  pie, 
and  still  as  mice  when  the  cat 's  about ;  but  then  he 
never  does  get  mad  unless  somebody's  done  some- 
thing mean  or  dirty,  and  I  don't  go  in  for  that  you 
know.  When  I  get  mad  at  nothing  he  never  says  a 
word,  only  looks  sorry,  and  I  can't  stand  that  look 
on  his  pale  face.  He  says  he'd  go  flrummer-boy  if 
he  was  sound  in  limb,  that  is,  if  his  father 'd  let  him. 
He's  got  all  sorts  of  red,  white,  and  blue  things 
about,  flags  and  rosets  on  things,  and  cockades  ;  and 
my,  how  his  eyes  shine,  and  how  red  his  cheeks  are 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    1861.  35 

when  he  gets  talking.  He  says,  I  play  about  and 
am  so  active  that  1  do  not  know  what  it  Is  to  feel  as 
he  does,  because  I  can't  have  so  much  time  to  think, 
and  hear  what  older  people  say.  When  he 's  so  ex- 
cited I  tell  him  he 's  a  Hag  of  the  union  himself." 

**  How's  that?" 

*'  Why,  his  eyes  are  blue,  blue  as  the  sky,  and  his 
skin  is  white,  all  but  those  red  spots  in  his  cheeks. 
Isn't  there  red  white  and  blue  for  you?  O,  he's  a 
bully  chap,  and  I  pity  him  so." 

*'  Pity  him,  isn't  he  happy?" 

*«  Why,  yes,  in  a  way.  St.  John '11  tell  you  all 
about  that.  But  do  you  think  you  'd  be  as  happy 
as  you  would  be  if  you  wanted  to  be  up  and  doing, 
and  scrabbling  about  everywhere,  and  wrestling,  and 
playing,  and  fighting  (good-natured  fighting)  with 
other  boys,  and  into  all  sorts  of  scrapes  and  fun,  and 
then  if  you  had  n't  any  limbs  to  do  all  this  Avith,  and 
had  just  to  keep  quiet  and  be  good,  whether  you 
wanted  to  or  not.     I  say,  do  you  think  ijou  ^d  like  it  ?  '* 

'*  No  indeed,  Horace,  I  should  not.  You  pity  him 
then  because  his  free  active  spirit  is  chained  down  by 
his  feeble  body." 

**  Yes,  that's  It  exactly.  Now  if  he  was  a  quiet, 
tame,  good  boy,  I  'd  like  him  well  enough  I  suppose, 
but  I  should  n't  care  for  him  as  I  do  now,  and  I 
should  n't  pity  him.  I  hate  to  be  pitied,  and  I  never 
let  on  to  him  that  I  feel  so.  But  I  've  heard  and 
talked  enough  for  one  day,  so  here  goes.     Make  a 


36  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    1861. 

bow  to  Captain  Grey,  Cass,  and  let's  be  off.  I'm 
almost  stifled." 

*'  Stop  humbug,  private  Grey  at  your  service," 
said  Thornton. 

*'  Tell  that  to  your  granny,"  cried  Horace,  in  a 
most  incredulous  tone  as  he  closed  the  door,  and  tore 
through  the  hall,  boy  fashion. 

*'  Never  mind  his  manners,  mother,"  said  Thorn- 
ton, as  he  observed  the  pained  expression  upon  Mrs. 
Grey's  face  as  Horace  left  the  room.  His  heart  is  in 
the  right  place,  and  he 's  a  noble  little  fellow  in  spite 
of  slang.  He  has  too  much  spirit  to  be  decorous. 
The  circumstance  of  that  acquaintance  has  done  some- 
thing for  him,"  he  added  turning  to  St.  John. 

"  Thornton,"  said  his  mother,  gravely,  "  what  will 
circumstances  do  for  you?  I  dread  the  peril  your 
body  will  be  exposed  to  when  you  go  to  the  war,  but 
I  dread  far  more  the  peril  to  your  soul  when  you  are 
in  daily  intercourse  with  the  profane  and  vicious." 

''  Not  so  much  danger  there  as  you  think,"  inter- 
rupted Mr.  Grey.  *'  Men  who  go  to  a  war  like  this, 
from  the  highest  motives  of  patriotism  and  duty,  have 
all  their  best  qualities  called  forth.  Their  lower  pro- 
pensities are  kept  in  check  or  it  may  be  cured." 

*«  Yes,  mother  ;  and  beside  that,  the  same  circum- 
stances that  hinder  one  man  in  the  right,  help  another. 
Now,  by  education  and  tastes,  I  am  opposed  to  vice 
in  any  form,  and  I  hope  to  turn  these  same  circum- 
stances to  a  good  pm'pose." 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    18G1.  37 

<*  111  tell  you  what,"  he  added,  rising  and  walking 
about.  *  *  I  mean  to  keep  a  special  journal  for  Horace, 
in  which,  beside  putting  down  things  that  will  amuse 
and  interest  him,  I  will  particularly  note  instances 
w*here  individuals  have  controlled  circumstances,,  and 
brought  good  out  of  evil.  Perhaps  I'll  sometimes 
give  him  the  reverse  side  to  make  the  right  stand  out 
more  boldly.  Poor  fellow,  he  really  thought  you'd 
let  him  go  as  as  drummer-boy,  father,  I  do  believe." 

**The  last  thing  I  should  consent  to  for  a  boy 
like  him.  He  has  a  great  deal  to  learn  yet,  before 
he  can  leave  home  in  any  capacity." 

An  hour  later,  as  Thornton  was  still  lying  upon 
the  lounge  resting  from  his  fatigue,  and  thinking  over 
the  change  in  his  life  that  was  so  soon  to  take  place, 
he  heard  Horace  whistling  to  Ctesar  in  the  hall. 
Presently  he  came  to  the  door  of  the  library  and 
looked  in.  When  he  saw  that  Thornton  was  alone 
his  careless  manner  changed  at  once,  and  coming'  up 
to  his  brother,  said,  *'  I  say.  Thorny,  can't  you  per- 
suade father  to  let  me  go  as  drummer-boy ;  I  'm  in 
earnest,  I  should  like  it  of  all  things." 

«<  No,  Horace,  I  cannot,  for  two  reasons;  —  one 
is,  it  would  be  useless  to  try,  as  his  mind  is  fully 
made  up  on  the  subject ;  and  then  again  it  would  be 
the  worst  place  in  the  world  for  you." 

<«  I  can't  see  why.  I  'm  tall  and  stout  and  strong 
for  my  age,  fourteen,  and  I  can  bear  as  much  fatigue 
as  a  man.     I  'm  tired  of  this  lazy  life  up  here." 

4 


38  ECHOES  FROM  THE   GUN  OF   1861. 

'*  You  cannot  bear  as  much  fatigue  as  a  man,  and 
you  are  so  restless  and  cliaugeable,  liow  could  you 
conform  to  the  strict  rules  of  the  camp  and  the  field  ? 
Then,  too,  you  know  you  are  a  fiery,  hot-tempered 
chap ;  you  'd  be  getting  into  difficulty  all  the  time ; 
and  although  I  do  not  believe  you  are  really  low  in 
your  tastes,  you  do  talk  slang,  and  sometimes  keep 
company  that 's  not  the  best  for  you,  and  you  don't 
know  the  temptations  you  'd  be  exposed  to  in  the  army. 
No,  no,  Horace,  you  ought  not  to  think  of  going 
from  home  till  you  Ve  got  a  little  more  of  the  good 
home  can  give  you,  if  you'll  take  it.  Father  told  you 
you  must  drum  a  little  more  steadiness  into  you  before 
you. thought  of  the  army ;  and  I  tell  you,  you  must 
fight  many  a  battle  with  yourself,  before  you  can  do 
any  other  fighting,  or  even  drum  to  incite  others." 

*  *  Its  mighty  easy  for  you  to  talk,  Thorn.  A  Sleepy 
Hollow  like  you  never  had  any  battles  to  fight.  I 
wish  you  could  be  in  my  skin  for  a  while  and  see  how 
hard  it  is  to  be  proper,  and  talk  book,  and  keep  still, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  The  very  thing  I  want  to 
go  for  is  to  use  up  some  of  my  superfluous  steam. 
I  shall  biu-st  my  boiler  one  of  these  days  up  here  in 
this  old  stujiid  Dutchified  place." 

<*  No  battles  to  fight,"  said  Thornton,  rising  to 
his  feet, —  *'  why  all  the  demons  that  torment  you 
to  your  harm,  of  unrest,  mischief,  temper,  and  what 
not,  are  nothing  to  my  one  great  enemy,  call  him 
what  name  you  will,  laziness,  selfish  ease,  inertia,  or 


ECHOES   FKOM   TIIE   GUN   OF    18G1.  39 

Sleepy  Ilollowism.  Your  foes  that  you  tuust  fight 
can  be  made  your  servants  and  aids  if  you  subdue 
them,  and  will  help  you  along  in  any  cause  in  life. 
My  foe  has  always  to  be  contended  against;  he  bids 
me  lie  still  when  I  should  be  up  and  doing;  idle 
when  I  should  study ;  lounge,  when  duty  says,  what 
thy  hand  findeth  to  do,  do  with  thy  might.  He  is 
insidious  too,  and  plausible,  and  would  fain  make  me 
think  that  he  keeps  me  out  of  harm.  Xo,  no,  Hor, 
give  me  your  enemies  and  you  shall  have  my  old  man 
of  the  sea.  Once  saddled  with  such  an  incubus 
you  '11  soon  beg  for  your  little  lively  imps  back  agaiti, 
and  be  quite  content  that  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  train 
them  a  little  and  make  them  help  you." 

* '  I  never  tJiought  of  that  before ;  I  always  sup- 
posed my  fault»»were  the  worst  a  fellow  could  have 
and  the  hardest  to  fight  with,  I  hear  so  much  about 
them ;  but  now  I  see  it  must  be  a  deal  harder  to  want 
to  do  nothing  all  the  time,  and  feel  that  you  must 
and  ought  to  be  at  work.  Guess  you  may  keep  your 
old  man  of  the  sea  ;  I  always  did  pity  poor  Sinbad." 

**  1  thought  so,"  said  Thornton.  ' *  Xow  you  '11  stay 
at  home  and  fight  more  willingly  wont  you  ?  We  '11 
report  to  each  other  what  progress  we  make;  not 
perhaps  in  detail ;  but  we  '11  let  each  other  know 
about  how  we  get  along,  I  in  the  army,  you  at  home 
in  school,  and  we  can  draw  our  own  inferences." 

**  Yes,  I  should  like  that;  only  don't  you  go  to 
preaching  to  me.     I  get  enough  of  that,  one  way 


40  ECHOES   FKOM    THE    GUN   OF    ISGl. 

and  another.  It'll  be  a  blessed  thing  for  me  if 
Aunt  Esther  docs  go  off  to  a  hospital.  I  quite 
agree  with  her  that  there 's  no  scope  for  her  here." 

*'You'll  miss  her  enough,  if  she  does  go,  you 
ungrateful  scapegrace,"  replied  Thornton,  with  a 
laugh  :   "  she  's  only  too  good  to  you." 

**  Yes,  sir,"  was  the  reply,  with  a  prolonged 
sound  of  the  r  that  did  n't  quite  amount  to  the  slang 
expression  in  vogue  ;  **  that 's  just  what  I  say,  — too 
much  of  a  good  thing  she  gives  me." 

*<  Incorrigible  !  "  said  Thornton  ;  "  never  fear  that 
I  shall  waste  preaching,  as  you  call  it,  upon  you ; 
besides,"  he  added,  seriously,  *«  there  is  no  need. 
The  record  of  my  life  in  the  army  w^ill  be  sufficient. 
If  good,  you  will  know  it,  and  profit  by  it,  I  believe. 
I  hope  it  may  not  be  such  as  to  injurg  you." 


CHAPTER  V. 

DRILLING    AND   WAITING. 

A  FORTNIGHT  later  found  Thornton  in  camp,  near 
AYashington,  really  entered  upon  his   soldier's    life. 
He  had  "adhered  to  his  resolution  of  enlisting  as   a 
private,  although  his  father  could  easily  have  pro- 
cured a  commission  for  him.     But  he  said  he  knew 
nothing  of  the  duties  of  an  officer,  that  he  was  not 
fit  to  command,  and  that  he  would  go  into  the  ranks 
and   earn    promotion   before   he    accepted    it.     His 
father  readily  assented  to  his  wishes  in  this  respect, 
feeling   that   his  judgment   was    correct;    and    his 
mother,  though  she  sighed  over  his  anticipated  pri- 
vations, as  loving  mothers  will,  said  no  word  to  dis- 
suade him  from  his  purpose.     Fondly  and  tenderly 
she  looked  after  her  brave  boy,  whom  she   hardly 
knew  to  be  hers,  in  the  altered  character  in  which 
he  now  appeared ;  and  with  her  prayers   and  bless- 
ings he  had  gone  forth  from  the  home  of  his  child- 
ho°od,  as  thousands  have  gone  beside  him,— some 
to   be    almost   miraculously   preserved   from   peril; 
some  to  hunger  and  die  in  Southern  prisons ;  some 
to  win  glory  and  honor  on  the  field;  some  to  be 
4* 


42  ECHOES  FROM  THE   GUN  OF   1861. 

taken  in  strange  and  mysterious  ways  while  yet 
their  young  brows  were  wreathed  with  unfading 
laurels  of  noble  deeds,  and  all  to  a  certain  life  of 
exposure  and  hardship.  Such  portions  of  his  jour- 
nal as  were  written  expressly  for  Horace  I  shall  lay 
before  my  young  readers. 

May,  '61.  Well,  Hor,  the  Eebs  didn't  take 
Washington ;  did  n't  march  on  to  Philadelphia  and 
New  York,  to  the  tune  of 

"  See,  the  conquering  hero  comes  !  " 

didn't  have  a  good  time  generally  pillaging  these 
cities  ;  did  n't  dictate  a  peace  upon  their  own  terms, 
and  then  settle  down  as  the  aristocratic  race  par  em- 
inence, and  found  a  mighty  empire,  of  which  slavery 
was  the  chief  corner-stone,  before  whose  might  and 
power  Yankee  tinkers  and  Northern  mudsills  and 
abolitionists  should  bow  in  reverence,  thankful  for 
being  allowed  the  privilege  of  submission. 

I  say  they  didn't  do  all  this.     Why? 

Simply  because,  literally  and  metaphorically,  the 
United  States  Government  was  too  many  for  them, 
—  because  the  American  heart  beats  true  and  loyal 
to  the  good  old  flag,  and  thousands  upon  thousands 
are  ready  to  fight  and  if  need  be  to  die  under  its 
folds. 

How  astounded  the  Southerners  are  at  this  great 
uprising  of  the  North  !     I  must  laugh  when  I  think 


ECHOES   FROM  THE.  GUN  OF   18G1.  43 

how  they  have  reckoned  without  their  host.  I  used 
to  hear  them  talk,  last  winter,  in  their  arrogant 
fiishion,  and  say  that,  in  case  of  a  collision  with  the 
North,  there  would  be  a  large  party  there  who  would 
join  them,  — that,  as  the  Yankees  were  not  a  nation 
of  gentlemen,  accustomed  to  field  sports,  and  to 
avenging  insulted  honor,  they  were  no  fighters,  and 
that  one  Southerner  was  equal  to  five  Northerners, 
—  that  while  they  should  send  their  best  blood  into 
the  field,  the  flower  of  Southern  chivalry,  we  at  the 
North  should  depend  upon  foreign  mercenaries  and 
low  mudsills  to  do  our  fighting. 

All  this  stuflf  the  majority  of  the  people  South 
have  been  taught  to  believe ! 

Now  put  on  your  magical  glasses,  and  come  and 
look  with  me  at  our  encampment,  and  judge  for 
yourself  whether  we  are  in  earnest  or  not.  From 
this  hill  we  look  down  upon  the  white  tents  which, 
scattered  far  and  near,  form  the  present  lodging  of 
the  Army  of  the  Potomac.  Some  of  these  tents  are 
in  thick  clusters,  in  the  open  country ;  others  gleam 
out  through  forest-trees.  In  open  spaces  yoii  see 
men  in  squads,  companies,  and  regiments,  infantry 
and  cavalry,  going  through  all  the  various  evolutions 
which  constitute  the  drilling  of  a  great  army.  Look 
at.  them  !  You  can  count  them  by  hundi'cds  and 
thousands,  and  know  that  you  are  looking  upon  men 
of  all  ranks  and  conditions  in  life,  animated  by  one 
spirit  and  one  purpose. 


44  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF   1861. 

You  're  a  bright  boy,  Horace,  so  comment  is  need- 
less. We  're  bound  to  conquer.  Some  of  our  wise 
ones  say  it  '11  not  be  done  in  a  hurry,  —  that  we  un- 
derrate the  force  and  earnestness  of  the  enemy ;  but 
we  boys  most  of  us  think  one  good  drubbing  from 
our  army  '11  bring  them  to  terms. 

Tell  St.  John  I  've  had  an  opportunity  already  of 
seeing  how  some  of  our  boys  use  circumstances. 
We  have  a  good  deal  of  leisure,  and  many  of  our 
officers,  and  some  of  the  men  who  have  influential 
friends,  spend  a  great  deal  of  their  time  in  Washing- 
ton, —  evidently,  for  the  most  part,  to  their  injury. 
Removed  from  the  restraints  of  home,  and  exposed 
to  the  temptations  ever  springing  up  in  their  path,  too 
many  make  a  poor  use  of  their  privileges,  and  enter 
into  dissipation  that  would  shock  their  friends  at 
home,  if  they  knew  of  it.  Inaction  in  camp  is  bad 
for  all.  Some  of  us,  who  have  no  inclination  for 
dissipation,  stay  quietly  on  here;  and  others,  who 
are  strongly  tempted,  bravely  resist.  Such  are 
fighting  their  hardest  battles  now.  But  I  don't  for- 
get I'm  not  to  preach,  and  that  you  want  to  know 
about  my  companions  in  arms.  Opportunely  for 
the  introduction,  Pat  Finnegan  cries  out,  — 

*«Be  my  sowl,  it's  meself  that 's  tired  of  this  ploy 
fightin' ! " 

**  That 's  so,  Pat,"  breaks  in  Jake  Brown's  rough 
voice.  *'  I  come  to  fight,  and  ef  I  don't  git  a 
chance  soon  to  pull  my  trigger,  I  'd  a  tarnation  heap 


ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    18G1.  45 

rather  be  In  tlie  woods  among  the  pine  trees  to 
hum.'' 

'*  You 'II  have  fighting  enough  soon,  old  boy; 
and  maybe  then  you  '11  wish  you  had  some  of  your 
old  friends  to  protect  you.  A  tree  's  a  good  screen," 
said  Jolin  Trimmer,  whom,  for  certain  reasons,  we 
call  Brag. 

'*  Maybe,"  said  Jake,  dryly;  **  but  for  lack  of  a 
tree  I  '11  git  behind  you.  I  can  stoop,  and  your  back 
is  broad  enough  to  shield  a  chap." 

V  I  'm  afraid  you  '11  hardly  do  that,  for  I  shall  be 
in  the  thickest  of  the  tight." 

"•  Thickest?  dare  say,"  growled  Jake,  *'  leaving 
out  the  s." 

*'  Good  for  old  Holdfast,"  roared  another  of  our 
boys,  Jim  Whittler,  who  is  a  wag  in  his  way,  and 
whom  I  don't  know  as  fighting  will  ever  make  sober. 

Jake  Brown  is  a  Maine  backwoodsman,  who  hap- 
pened to  be  In  Xew  York  at  the  time  of  the  call  for 
troops,  and  who  enlisted  at  once,  without  waiting  to 
return  home,  and  whom  we  call  Holdfast. 

Ned  HowCj  of  our  set  in  the  city,  but  now  my 
superior  oflficer,  to  whom  I  am  obliged  to  be  very 
respectful  in  public,  is  not  going  on  very  well.  He  's 
one  of  those  fellows  our  present  life  will  make  or 
mar.  Just  now  he  goes  to  the  city  too  often  for  his 
own  good.  He  tries  to  keep  away,  but  says  he  can't 
resist  temptation. 

Then  there's  Lee  Waters,  a  pale,  delicate  boy, 


46  ECHOES   FROM  THE   GUN  OF   1861. 

who  looks  as  if  he  ought  to  be  at  home,  under  his 
mother's  care,  —  only,  poor  fellow,  he  has  n't  any  ; 
instead  of  which,  he  shrinks  from  no  hardship,  and 
never  complains,  though  he  coughs  night  and  day. 
He  's  almost  insanely  patriotic.  We  'd  pet  him  if 
we  dared ;  but  it  would  never  do. 

In  strong  contrast  to  Lee,  Is  Joe  Clarke,  whom 
we  call  Dub,  for  short.  He's  an  out-and-out  feath- 
er-bed and  sugar-candy  boy  ;  so  Jim  Whittier  called 
him  double-refined  sugar,  which  we  abbreviated  as 
above.  He's  always  groaning  and  moaning,  and 
tellinoj  how  he  had  thino;s  at  home,  and  tormentinsj 
our  lives  out  with  his  complaints.  In  return,  he  gets 
knocks  and  slaps,  not  a  few,  —  I  mean  with  the 
tongue.  **Does  your  mother  know  you're  out?" 
*'  Lullaby,  sweet  lullaby  !  hush,  my  darling,  mother 
is  near !  "  Condolences,  offers  of  lozenges  and  dain- 
ties, and  mock  petitions  to  headquarters  for  a  sup- 
ply of  Mrs.  Wiuslow's  Soothing  Syrup,  constitute 
our  revenge  upon  him. 

Our  wit  may  not  seem  to  you  very  brilliant, 
though  some  of  us  do  get  off  good  things  occa- 
sionally. It  wouldn't  stand  drawing-room  criticism ; 
but  in  camp,  or  on  the  march,  with  the  accompani- 
ments of  droll  looks  and  high  spirits,  it 's  not  con- 
temptible. As  a  rule,  I  should  say,  our  boys, 
and  I  mean  all  with  whom  I  come  in  contact,  are 
resolved  to  be  jolly,  and  get  all  the  fun  they  can 
out  of  their   hardships.     Exceptions  there  are,  of 


ECHOES   FROM   TIIE   GUN   OF   18C1.  47 

course,  —  fault  finders,  croakers,  and  efFemmates, — 
but  they  are  tew,  and  the  jollies  are  in  the  ascend- 
ant. And  not  a  whit  the  less  serious  are  they  about 
the  great  business  in  hand,  for  this  same  jollity.  It 
is,  in  fact,  a  legitimate  result  of  their  earnestness. 
l\esolutcly  and  cheerfully  they  have  started  to  con- 
quer, or  die,  and  all  petty  annoyances  are  scorned  or 
turned  to  fun. 

Well,  besides  jokes  and  fun,  we  have  games,  and 
chats,  and  long  yarns,  and  political  discussions,  and 
reading  and  writing,  to  fill  up  the  odd  hours  when 
we  're  not  drilling,  or  on  duty,  or  polishipg  our 
equipments. 

There  's  one  thing  about  camp  life  :  it  does  for  a 
man  what  school  does  for  the  boy.  Each  one  stands 
upon  his  own  merit.  Shams  don't  go  down  ;  and  if 
conceit  doesn't  get  taken  out  of  a  fellow  mighty 
quick,   it  is  n't  the  fault  of  the  boys. 

' '  How  do  I  like  camp  fare  ?  " 

First  rate.  To  be  sure,  we  get  some  luxuries 
now  we  shan't  always  have,  when  ''we're  march- 
ing along,"  and  as  we  penetrate  fifrther  into  Vir- 
ginia's sacred  soil ;  but  hard  tack  and  salt  pork  and 
beef  are  not  to  be  despised,  with  the  appetites  we 
bring  to   them. 

"  How  do  I  like  ray  bed?" 

That 't  first  rate,  too,  whether  on  the  ground  or 
the  soft  side  of  a  board.  It  seemed  a  little  hard  at 
first,  and  made  my  bones  ache;  but  that  was   all 


48  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    18G1. 

owing  to  mother's  petting  at  home.     Now  it's  quite 
soft  and  refreshing. 

I  'm  summoned  to  drill,  — a  business  I'm  as  tired 
of  as  Pat  and  Holdfast.  Never  mind,  we  are  to 
have  real  fighting  soon,  and  I  shall  -wTite  you  a  jubi- 
lant account  of  victory. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

BATTLE    AND   DEFEAT. 

July,  61.  I  was  premature  in  my  boast,  Horace. 
We  've  had  a  battle ;  but  you  will  hear  no  jubilant 
sounds  of  victory.  No.  Before  this  the  wail  of 
defeat  has  gone  over  the  land,  and  perhaps  you  may 
have  already  blushed  for  the  army  of  the  Potomac, 
which  went  out  with  martial  music,  flying  banners, 
and  exultant  hearts,  in  full  faith  of  speedy  victory, 
and  which  returned  defeated,  dispirited,  and  panic- 
stricken. 

But  you  need  not  blush  for  us,  though  you  may 
grieve  for  and  with  us.  You  must  remember,  that, 
though  ours  was  a  large  and  powerful  army,  it  was 
an  undisciplined  one,  the  majority  of  us  the  three 
years'  troops  just  enlisted,  and  that  we  met  a  com- 
paratively practised  foe. 

Errors  of  judgment  there  doubtless  were,  and 
mistakes  also.  Perfectly  organized  armies  do  not 
gi'ow  up  like  Jonah's  gourd  in  the  night.  But  a 
braver,  truer,  more  patriotic  set  of  men  never  went 
out  to  do  battle  for  a  righteous  cause  than  this  our 
army  of  the  Potomac.  I  say  this  in  spite  of  the  ex- 
5 


50  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    1861. 

aggerated  reports  of  our  defeat,  or  disgraceful  rout, 
as  some  will  have  it. 

But  I  must  begin  at  the  beginning,  if  I  can  go 
back  to  anything  so  tame,  after  our  late  terrible  ex- 
perience. "When  orders  came  for  us  to  break  camp, 
taking  three  days'  rations  in  our  haversacks,  and 
leaving  behind  all  supei-fluous  baggage,  they  were 
received  with  wild  acclamations. 

Pat  roared  out,  **  And  shure  it's  meself  that 's 
just  aching  for  a  foight ;  we  '11  show  'em  how  it 's 
done  in  the  ould  counthry." 

Old  Holdfast  grunted,  *'  Good  news  at  last,"  and 
showed  his  satisfaction  by  the  gleam  in  his  dark  eye, 
and  his  prompt  movements.  Brag  talked  big,  and 
swasfo-ered  about,  but  looked  blue  enough. 

Lee's  cheeks  burned  brighter  th<an  ever  with  the 
loyal  color,  and  his  eyes  fairly  danced  in  his  head, 
and  he  moved  restlessly  about,  hither  and  thither, 
and  could  not  be  persuaded  to  keep  quiet  and  save 
his  streno^th  for  time  of  need. 

As  for  Jim  AYhittier,  he  leaped  and  danced  about 
like  a  wild  creature,  performing  all  sorts  of  ridiculous 
antics  and  figures,  little  dreaming,  poor  fellow,  how 
it  would  be  with  him  on  the  "battle-field. 

As  for  mvself,  I  must  have  had  somethinof  of  the 
old  Sleepy  Hollow  look  about  me,  for,  while  I  was 
deliberately  putting  my  equipments  in  order,  Jim 
came  up  to  me,  and  gaving  me  a  huge  poke  be- 
tween my  ribs,  said,  "  Look  ahve,  man  !  do  you  be- 


ECHOES    EKOM   THE    GUN   OF    18G1.  51 

long  to  this  generation  or  the  past  ?  what  kind  of  a 
face  is  that  to  carry  to  battle?  Meditation  to  the 
dogs  ;  action  's  the  word,"  and,  as  he  spoke,  he  gave 
a  leap  forward  with  his  bayonet  fixed,  as  if  charging 
the  enemy,  and  almost  ran  it  into  Dub,  who  just  then 
appeared.  He  did  disarrange  the  cloak  Dub  had 
just  then  gracefully  thrown  over  his  shoulders,  there- 
by causing  the  latter  Infinitely  more  disgust  than 
the  narrow  escape  from  cold  steel  had  induced  fear. 
Shouldn't  wonder, -after  all,  if  our  double  refined 
should  prove  to  have  plenty  of  pluck. 

Jake  says  a  few  nights  sleeping  in  the  mud,  and  a 
few  days'  short  rations,  and  one  tough  fight,  will 
make  a  man  of  him. 

But  to  the  battle.  If  you  are  as  eager  to  hear  as 
we  were  to  be  in  it,  you'll  not  care  for  small  details. 

To  our  intense  mortification,  we  were  for  some 
time  in  the  rear,  seeing  the  signs  and  hearing  the 
sounds  of  a  terrific  contest  rasrinfT  and  doino:  our 
best  for  the  poor  wounded  fellows  brought  to  us. 
O,  it  was  terrible  to  see  them,  with  their  ghastly  and 
bloody  faces,  some  convulsed  with  agony,  others 
rigid  In  stern  determination.  Some  raved  and 
screamed  in  their  extremity,  others  bore  their  suffer- 
ings with  compressed  lips  and  knitted  brows.  One 
poor  lad,  whose  wound  was  mortal,  cried  out 
*' Mother!  mother!"  In  tones  piteous  to  hear. 
Another,  with  a  countenance  distorted  by  pain,  and 
fierce  as  that  of  a  savage  warrior,  yelled  out  to  us, 


52  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    18G1. 

*'  Go  to  the  front,  you  lazy  devils,  orders  or  no 
orders,  —  shoot,  stub,  kill,  kill,  kill,  —  that 's  wliat 
you  're  here  for,"  and  with  the  last  word  he  sank 
back  insensible,  the  blood  gushing  in  torrents  from 
his  side. 

*' O,  my  country!  my  country  !"  cried  another. 
**  God  help  you!  brother  fighting  against  brother. 
O,  my  poor  head ;  where  am  I,  at  home,  or  where? 
O,"  as  a  kind  hand  bound  up  the  wound  In  his  tem- 
ple, *'I  remember  now.  Father  in  heaven,  spare 
me  for  my  country." 

But  there  was  one  boy  from  a  ^lassachusetts  regi- 
ment whose  agonies  I  shall  never,  never  forget,  lie 
was  horribly  wounded  ;  so  disfigured,  I  don't  believe 
even  a  mother's  love  could  have  recognised  him.  At 
first  we  thought  he  was  raving,  for  he  kept  repeating, 
**  Cain  killed  his  brother,  and  God's  curse  was  upon 
him  ;  and  I,  I  killed  my  brother,  I  saw  him  fall. 
O,  brother,  brother,  what  will  our  mother  say?" 
These  and  words  of  similar  import  he  repeated  over 
and  over  again.  At  last,  a  young  man,  whose  right 
arm  had  been  shot  off,  and  w)\o  belonged  to  the 
same  company,  found  voice  to  say —  "  You  couldn't 
help  It,  Ned  ;  you  didn't  know  ;  "  and  adding,  to  me, 
<'Yes,  he  shot  him  down.  I  think  he  knew  him 
before  the  ball  took  effect.  Who  knows  how  many 
brothers  are  to  perish  in  the  same  cruel  way  ?  Ned 
is  so  tender-hearted,  it  will  break  his. heart;  brave 
as  a  Hon  too." 


ECTIOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    18G1.  53 

Poor  Brag,  I  could  n't  but  pity  him  from  the  bottom 
of  my  heart,  though  1  was  so  vexed  with  him,  too.  I 
could  willingly  have  pitched  him  down  hill  into  a 
brook,  and  left  him  there  to  cool  his  fright.  The 
sight  of  the  wounded,  their  terrible  disfigurement, 
and  a  stray  ball  which  now  and  then  found  its  way 
to  us,  terrified  him  almost  out  of  his  wits.  At  last, 
after  a  shot  which  came  very  near  hitting  him,  he 
actually  fainted  away.  Lee  looked  as  if  he  could 
have  killed  him  on  the  spot,  and  Holdfast  said, 
*' Poor  chap,  he's  enermost  skeered  to  death;  it's 
wus  than  the  bullets.  He  '11  do  better  though  when 
we  're  in  the  thick  of  it." 

But  our  time  was  coming,  and  I  was  glad  of  it, 
for  I  felt  sick  almost,  looking  at  the  poor  wounded 
fellows,  and  longed  to  be  at  w^ork. 

I  am  writing  of  that  fearful  Sunday,  you  know ; 
that  Sunday  when  you  were  at  home  quiet  and  peace- 
ful, or  listening  to  the  word  of  God  in  his  house  of 
prayer,  while  we . 

Come  with  me  to  this  rising  ground,  look  around. 
It  is  just  before  we  go  into  action ;  our  nerves  are 
braced,  and  our  heart  is  steeled  to  anything. 

Holdfast  says  '*  there's  hot  work  ahead.  I  come 
to  fight,  and  I  guess  here's  a  chance  to  do  it  pretty 
thoroughly.  Ef  I  git  hit  it  can't  be  helped,  I  calcu- 
lated to  run  my  risk  of  that,  but  I  hope  I'll  do  some 
tall  fightin  fust ;  thunder  an  lightnin  but  them  rebs 
is  in  airnest." 

5* 


54  ECHOES   rnOM   the    gun   of    1861. 

Lee  looked  like  an  evil  spirit ;  and  he  swore  be- 
tween his  set  teeth,  if  orders  didn't  come  to  move 
6oon,  he'd  go  without. 

I  say  nothing,  but  I  look  and  I  ask  myself  are 
these  men  or  demons  I  see  yonder ;  are  they  men 
with  human  hearts  and  human  aftections,  or  are  they 
demons  let  loose  from  the  infernal  regions,  and  hold- 
ing high  revel  on  this  fair  spot  of  earth  ? 

Far  as  the  eye  can  reach  are  sights  of  blood  and 
warfare ;  far  as  the  ear  can  hear  are  sounds  echoing, 
reverberating  from  distant  points  of  action  only 
fainter  duplicates  of  those  we  hear  around  us. 

There  are  men  arrayed  against  men,  brother  against 
brother,  shooting,  stabbing,  and  the  terrible  artillery 
thundering  over  the  smaller  rain  of  shot  and  bullet, 
and  doing  deadly  execution  too,  for  legs  and  arms  are 
severed  from  bodies  and  fly  through  the  air  in  a  man- 
ner horrible  to  behold.  Yonder  in  the  valley,  from 
heavy  clouds  of  smoke,  come  the  lightning  flashes  of 
artillery  and  rifles.  To  the  right  is  the  fierce  onset 
of  opposing  cavalry,  the  horses  only  one  degree  less 
human  in  their  looks  than  their  riders ;  and  just 
beyond  the  equally  fierce  hand  to  hand  combat  of  the 
infantry.  On  yonder  hillside  gleam  out  the  rifle 
and  bayonet.  Like  us,  the  men  are  waiting  for 
orders  to  a  certain  point.  And,  O  sight  of  horror, 
down  in  the  valley  are  heaps  and  heaps  of  wounded 
and  slain,  horse  and  rider,  friend  and  foe ;  and  over 
all  still  sweeps  on  the  deadly  fight.     The  sounds,  how 


ECHOES   FU03I   THE    GUN   OF    1861.  55 

shall  I  describe  them?  The  whiz,  whiz,  of  the 
bullets,  the  leaden  rain,  the  thunderous  roar,  the 
almost  human  scream  of  the  murderous  shells,  the 
heavy  tramp  of  horses,  the  hoarse  cries  of  leaders  urg- 
ing on  their  men  to  victory  or  death ;  the  shrieks, 
groans,  yells ;  the  dreadful  curses,  the  agonized  peti- 
tions to  God  for  mercy,  and  wild  and  fierce  the  martial 
music  resounding  through  all  this,  are  almost  stun- 
ning to  a  looker-on.  But  I  am  a  looker-on  no  longer, 
our  orders  have  come  at  last ;  down  the  hill  to  the 
left,  to  aid  a  wornout  regiment  who  have  fought 
bravely  for  hours.  Down  we  go ;  double,  almost 
double-double  quick,  so  eager  are  we  ;  and  now  —  we 
are  on  the  spot,  yonder  our  foe,  a  fresh  regiment, 
fresh  as  ours  and  every  whit  as  determined.  Ko  time 
to  look  about  now ;  load,  fire,  and  slay ;  load,  fire, 
and  slay,  as  fast  as  many  as  we  can,  —  that's  our 
work,  and  we  do  it,  bravely  too  ;  never  flinching,  only 
drawing  closer  and  closer  as  man  after  man  of  us  is 
shot  down  and  foils  into  the  human  heap  at  our  feet. 
I  am  almost  insane  in  my  desire  to  load  and  shoot 
faster,  still  faster. 

Those  fearful  sounds  but  now  so  terrific  to  my  ears 
are  but  the  fit  accompaniment  to  my  excited  feelings. 
To  all  the  wild  din  of  war  my  heart  beats  back  in 
throbs  as  wild.'  Still  we  fight,  and  still  they  fight; 
but  for  one  moment  they  slacken,  an  alarm  in  the 
rear  as  we  afterwards  heard  was  the  cause ;  that  one 
moment  gives  us  the  advantage,  we  pursue  it,  and  we 


56  ECHOES   FROM  THE   GUN   OF    18G1. 

pursue  them,  the  small  remnant  that  remains,  till 
pursuit  becomes  too  dangerous,  and  we  look  about 
for  another  foe,  taking  breath  the  while  and  trying  to 
discover  who  are  left  of  our  brave  boys .  Lee  Waters , 
whom  I  had  seen  fighting  like  a  devil  incarnate,  is 
not  wounded,  but  he  stands  pale  and  panting,  his 
hands  close  pressed  against  his  side. 

Brag,  I  had  seen  him  fighting  as  bravely  as  any, 
falls  into  his  white  fits  again  the  moment  immediate 
pressure  is  over.  Holdfast  looks  coolly  at  his  left 
arm,  slightly  wounded  in  the  fleshy  part  of  it,  and 
says,  *'  better  luck  than  I  thought  for,"  and  turns 
me  round  and  examines  the  wound  in  my  shoulder,  a 
mere  graze,  looks  at  the  bullet-mark  through  my  coat 
on  the  left  side,  and  says,   **  a  near  thing  that." 

Poor  Jim  is  missing,  and  we  find  him  presently  in 
a  heap  of  killed  and  wounded,  and  Brag  gladly  helps 
one  of  the  other  boys  carry  him  to  the  rear.  But  we 
had  barely  time  to  get  him  off,  for  the  battle  surged 
towards  us  again,  and  we  were  once  more  drawn  into 
the  midst  of  it.  Soon  the  cry  went  forth  that  the 
enemy  was  disheartened  and  had  fallen  ,back.  So 
they  were  for  the  moment ;  and  perhaps  if  the  war 
had  been  man's  war  only,  we  should  have  gained  the 
victory  and  settled  down  once  more  into  supine  ease, 
quite  convinced  of  the  insignificance  of  our  foe.  But 
tl;^  war  is  God's  war,  and  He  saw  fit  to  humble  us 
that  we  might  be  aroused  to  greater  efforts.  His  eye 
had  been  upon  us  all  day,  really  so  it  had  seemed  to 


ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN    OF    1861.  57 

me,  as  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  sun  riding  high  in 
the  heavens,  the  only  object  that  was  unaffected  by 
the  din  and  carnage  raging  below. 

Feebly  as  I  have  described  these  horrors  to  you,  you 
must  have  had  enough  of  them  ;  it  was  the  same  thing 
over  and  over,  only  as  the  day  waned  the  contest 
grew  hotter  and  hotter,  so  sure  were  we  of  victory, 
when  suddenly  came  the  appalling  tidings  that  tlie 
enemy  had  been  reinforced,  and  that  our  army  was 
in  full  retreat.  The  next  report  was  that  a  panic  had 
seized  our  troops  and  that  they  were  flying  before  the 
enemy.  It  was  too  true  and  too  bad,  and  yet  not  so . 
bad  as  has  been  told  you,  for  the  whole  army  was 
not  panic-stricken,  as  was  proved  by  their  preventing 
the  enemy,  flushed  with  their  unexpected  victory, 
from  following  us.  Our  army  bore  the  stigma  of 
being  panic-stricken,  when  crowds  and  crowds  of 
people  who  were  not  of  us,  teamsters,  spectators, 
idlers,  helped  to  swell  our  numbers,  and  to  add  ten- 
fold to  the  terror  and  confusion  of  the  hour.  I  do 
not  deny  that  many  of  our  men  were  panic-stricken. 
All  are  not  Jaeroes,  and  some  who  fight  the  most 
bravely  or  even  recklessly  under  the  pressure  of  the 
excitement  of  the  battle-field,  are  most  easily  intim- 
idated when  a  cry  of  panic  is  raised.  Eemember  too 
the  terrible  strain  of  hard  fighting  and  anxiety  that 
had  been  upon  us  so  long.  The  nerves  of  the  bravest 
might  be  supposed  to  give  way  a  little,  so  long  as 
men  are  men  and  not  gods.     As  a  resolute  war-cry 


58  ECHOES   FEOM   THE   GUN   OF    1861. 

will  sometimes  rally  a  disheartened  host,  so  too  will 
a  panic  spread  with  lightning-like  rapidity ;  for  we 
men,  proud  as  we  are  of  our  manliness,  are  sympa- 
thetic creatures  after  all.  But  I  leave  all  explana- 
tions to  those  who,  sitting  at  home  in  slippered  ease 
in  the  drawing-room,  or  lounging  on  balconies  at 
watering-places  to  catch  the  cooling  breeze,  tell  men 
how  this  or  that  might  have  been  avoided,  and  the 
battle  won.  Let  me  remind  such  of  the  old  copy, 
**  Circumstances  alter  cases,"  and  sujjfrest  that  a 
burning  July  sun,  hard  fighting  as  ever  was  done, 
nerves  excited  almost  to  madness  by  the  honible  sur- 
roundings of  a  battle-field,  are  less  favorable  to  cool 
clear  judgment  than  their  adjuncts. 

Excuses  too  for  our  defeat  I  leave  to  those  of  our 
army  who  think  we  need  to  make  them.  Bravely 
and  nobly  fought  our  army  of  the  Potomac  on  the 
field  of  Manassas,  as  thousands  of  crushed  hearts 
and  mourning  homes  bear  solemn  witness.  Greater 
love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a  man  lay  down  his 
life  for  his  friends. 

Our  lives  were  freely  given  by  us  to  our  country. 
Those  of  us  who  were  spared  made  the  offering  as 
freely  as  those  that  were  taken.  But  this  trouble- 
some scratch  on  my  shoulder  wornes  me  a  little,  so 
good  night,  Horace.  If  you  have  had  a  Bull  Eun  or 
Manassas  battle,  I  hope  you  came  off  victor. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AFTER   THE    BATTLE. 

July,  '61.  The  last  pages  in  my  journal  were 
hastily  written  as  soon  after  our  inglorious  flight  from 
Manassas  as  I  could  catch  a  moment's  leisure,  and  I 
now  add  a  few  incidents  which  occurred  afterwards, 
that  may  interest  and  amuse  you. 

I  shall  not  describe  our  retreat,  for  are  not  the  ac- 
counts thereof  to  be  found  in  the  chronicles  of  the 
day?  I  should  despair  of  giving  you  anything  as 
stirring  as  the  sensation  descriptions  you  may  find  in 
any  of  the  penny  journals,  or  anything  more  reliable 
than  the  accounts  of  faithful  reporters.  There  was  a 
ludicrous  side  to  it  too,  if  we  had  been  in  the  mood 
to  look  at  it.  As  it  was,  the  rapid  and  undignified 
skedaddling  of  some  of  our  spectators,  and  the  intense 
anxiety  depicted  upon  their  countenances,  gave  the 
assurance  that  they  had  seen  the  elephant,  even  be- 
yond their  desires.  Some  of  them,  I  think,  will  never 
go  out  again  to  see  the  spectacle  of  a  battle. 

Of  the  boys  I  have  named  to  you,  Jim  is  the  only 
one  severely  wounded,  and  the  surgeon  thinks  he  Avill 
recover,  and  be  in  fighting  trim,  when  the  cry  comes, 
we  so  long  to  hear,  —  on  to  Richrtiond. 


60  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GVTS   OF   1861. 

Brag  hardly  deserves  his  name  now,  and  Is  plainly 
trying  to  retrieve  his  character.  He  has  been  put 
upon  picket  duty  several  times  and  has  acquitted  him- 
self well,  though  with  his  nervous  terrors  I  know  it 
must  be  hard  work  for  him.  By  the  way,  Horace,  I 
hope  you  keep  a  picket  guard  well  posted  in  your 
camp.  If  it  is  far  better  to  be  on  the  watch  for  a 
foe  than  to  be  taken  unawares.  I  lono:  to  hear  how 
your  fight  comes  on.  Remember,  *'  greater  is  he 
that  ruleth  his  ot\ti  spirit  than  he  that  taketh  a  city.'' 

But  to  return  to  our  boys.  Lee  has  had  an  attack 
of  bleeding  at  the  lungs.  AVe  all  thought  he  would 
die,  but  he  is  slowly  recovering.  I  see  both  him  and 
Jim  occasionally  at  the  hospital,  and  Lee  seems  as 
vindictive  as  ever,  nay  more  so ;  for  he  thinks  our 
defeat  a  burning  shame,  and  showers  down  abuse  upon 
all  in  power  and  command  without  stint. 

Holdfast  goes  on  in  his  old  steady  way,  only  **  more 
so."  He's  likely  to  become  Holdfast  in  the  superla- 
tive degi'ee,  for  I  never  saw  one  more  thoroughly  in 
earnest.  As  he  says  of  himself,  '*  when  I  fust  jined 
the  army  it  was  more  cause  I  kinder  thought  I  'd  like 
a  change  than  any  great  grudge  I  had  agin'  the  rebs, 
an'  I  don  know 's  I  feel  any  bigger  grudge  now  than 
afore;  but  thunder  an'  lii2:htin',  I'll  fioht's  loner's  I 
hold  out  for  the  old  flag.  I  never  knowed  I  keered  so 
much  about  it  afore ;  but  Tvhen  I  seed  the  enemy 
fightin'  aglnst  it,  I  kinder  choked  all  up,  and  felt's 
ef  I  rather  die  for  it  than  live  without  it.  An'  now 
my  mind's  made  up  to  fight 's  long  's  the  war  lasts. 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    1801.  61 

an'  ef  Sally  to  hum  kecrs  enough  hout  mc  to  wait  an' 
take  the  chances  of  arms  i^hot  off,  ef  I  don't  lose  my 
head  too,  why  she  am  wait.  Ef  she  don't  want  to, 
she  need  n't. 

I  said,  I  thought  Sally  would  wait  and  be  proud  of 
her  hero. 

**  I  don't  mean  nobody  shall  be  ashamed  on  me, 
and  Sally's  a  plaguey  smart  gal.  She  can  take  care 
ef  herself  too  while  I  'm  away,  an'  that 's  somethin.' 
Guess  nobody '11  come  sparkin'  round  her  ef  she 
don't  want  em.  Ef  she  does,  why  I  've  my  country 
left." 

The  deep  sigh  that  accompanied  this  latter  sug- 
efcstion  rather  contradicted  his  assumed  stoicism.  I 
confess  I  never  dreamed  that  Holdfast  had  a  true  love 
in  the  wilds  of  Maine.     He  don't  look  it. 

As  for  Pat,  he's  a  case  to  keep  in  bounds  when 
we  're  not  hard  at  work  some  way.  He  thinks  drill- 
ing a  '*  pitiful  mane  business,  and  shure,"  he  says,  **  I 
knows  how  to  foight  without  so  much  bother  about  it ; 
its  ji&t  natral  to  mesclf  to  have  a  shindy.  An'  what  do 
yees  think ;  I  jist  ached  for  a  real  foight  yestreen, 
after  the  play  foight  we  'd  had,  and  so  I  was  compilled 
to  give  John  McGee  a  knock  in  the  side  of  his  head, 
and  what  do  ye  think  the  big  spalpeen  did  ?  Why 
he  intered  a  complaint  aginst  me ;  an'  when  I  tould 
the  Captain  it  was  to  keep  me  hand  in  jist,  I  did  it, 
he  would  n't  take  it  for  an  apologee  at  all  at  all,  an'  so 
I  was  forced  to  spind  the  nicht  in  meeditation,  I  was." 
6 


62  ECHOES    FROM   THE   GUN   OF    1861. 

.  "Meditation,  Pat?"  asked  one  of  the  boys; 
««How    was   that?" 

*'  Och,  an'  shure,  in  a  small  shanty  by  mese'f, 
an'  niver  a  bit  of  lave  to  go  an'  come  as  I  liked  !  " 

Dub  has  got  the  grumbles  pretty  well  taken  out 
of  him,  and  has  started  off  on  a  new  tack,  and  boasts 
of  his  feats  of  war.  We  treat  him  like  the  coxcomb 
he  is,  and  by  and  by  he  '11  come  out  right. 

You  ask  me  if  battle  is  like  boys'  fii^hts,  on  a  laro^e 
scale.  For  myself,  I  can  answer,  not  a  bit  of  it. 
You  beat  Tom,  or  pitch  into  him,  as  the  phrase  is, 
because  you  have  a  special  grudge  against  him,  or 
because  he  has  done  some  wrong  you  choose  to  right 
in  that  fashion.  It 's  Tom  you  have  a  spite  against ; 
it's  Tom  you  wish  to  pummel.  AVe  go  into  battle 
with  no  individual  grudge  or  enmity.  Vse  fight  not 
for  ourselves,  but  for  our  country.  AVe  have  no 
scores  to  settle  with  conscience,  as  you  boys  have, 
or  ouirht  to  have.  We  are  risht  and  we  are  fio^ht- 
ino:  for  the  ri2:ht.  The  fact,  so' dreadful  in  its  naked 
reality,  that  we  are  shooting,  stabbing,  and  killing 
so  many  men,  is  not  at  the  time  a  reality  to  us.  We 
are  doing  a  needful  work  for  our  just  cause.  That 
is  the  pre-eminent  thought,  and  the  inspiring  one. 
This  Is  why  fighting  In  the  ranks  is  so  much  easier  to 
a  true-souled  man  than  single  hand-to-hand  encoun- 
ters, or  deliberately  shooting  down  a  man  when  you 
are  on  guard,  if  your  duty  requires  it.  In  the  lattCF 
case,  it  is  hard  to  get  over  the  feeling  that  you  are, 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    18G1.  63 

in  one  sense,  a  murtlerer,  though  you  know  you  are 
only  doing  your  duty.  The  mystery  of  war,  in  this 
nineteenth  century,  with  all  our  boasted  progress  in 
the  arts  and  sciences,  and  our  high  civilization,  I  do 
not  pretend  to  fathom.  Still  less  can  1  reconcile  it 
with  the  doctrine  of  Him  who  came  to  bring  peace 
and  good  will  on  earth.  I  only  know  that  to  me 
this  seems  a  righteous,  God-appointed  war;  and, 
though  dimly,  as  a  vision  far  off,  yet  can  I  see  in  it 
results  which  shall  affect  the  whole  civilized  world. 

I  have  spoken  of  feelings  which  influence  me,  and 
which  I  know  influence  others,  in  combat ;  as,  for 
instance.  Holdfast,  who  fights  as  bravdy  as  man 
can,  and  yet  is  tender  as  a  woman  to  the  wounded 
Rebels  with  whom  he  has  anything  to  do. 

But  all  do  not  feel  as  we  do.  Lee  fights  as  if 
every  man  in  the  ranks  was  a  personal  foe,  and  I 
should  piiy  the  poor  fellow  who  asked  mercy  of  him. 
There  are  others  like  him,  doubtless.  I  am  sure  he 
must  have  some  private  grudge,  that  has  changed  the 
milk  of  human  kindness  into  gall.  Some  day  I  shall 
find  out  about  it. 

Ko,  no,  Horace;  although  war  is  a  horrible  evil, 
yet  thousands  upon  thousands  who  are  engaged  in  it 
are  of  earth's  best  and  noblest.  Do  not  make  it  an 
excuse  for  boys'  fights.  It  won't  hold  good,  even 
on  the  side  we  think  wrong  and  aggressive.  The 
majority  of  our  enemies  are  self-deceived,  or  misled 
by  their  leaders,  and  have  as  firm  belief  in  the  right- 
eousness of  their  cause  as  we  have  of  ours. 


64  ECHOES   FROM  THE   GUN  OF   18G1. 

I  know  no  bright  side,  no  redeeming  feature,  in 
boys'  jBghts.  I  have  never  been  able  to  enjoy  the 
books  you  read  with  so  much  avidity,  describing 
battles  and  *'  set-to's"  between  the  boys  in  English 
schools.  I  believe  there  are  other  and  far  nobler 
ways  of  making  the  youth  of  a  country  brave  and 
hardy.  I  do  not  blame  the  boys,  however.  I  know 
of  no  slavery  worse  than  the  system  of  fagging, 
through  which  the  boys  of  England  must  pass.  I 
know  no  better  school  for  turning  out  sneaks  or  bul- 
lies, or  fighters  according  to  the  original  character  of 
the  boy.  Tell  me,  if  you  can,  one  noble  feehng 
ever  inspired  by  a  boy's  quarrel  and  fight,  unless  it 
be  a  fight  to  protect  the  weak  from  the  oppression  of 
the  stronsr. 

As  for  me,  when  I  fight  in  battle, 

« 

"  A  thousand  hearts  are  great  within  my  bosom  ;  " 

SO  fight  I,  as  they  bid  me,  for  God  and  my  country. 

When  I  commenced  the  account  of  the  battle, 
while  I  was  yet  a  looker-on,  I  asked  myself,  as  you 
will  remember,  if  they  were  men  or  demons  upon- 
whom  I  looked.  Now  I  can  answer,  that  all  men 
do  not  look  like  demons  when  they  are  in  battle. 
Ah,  no  !  I  have  caught  glimpses  of  "  holy  ardors," 
and  noble  enthusiasm,  which  have  almost  transfig- 
ured to  something  divine  the  human  face  out  of 
which  they  shone.  But  enough  of  this.  I  hope 
I've  not  transgressed,  and  verged  upon  a  *'  preach." 

We  take  prisoners,  of  course ;  and  I  am  going  to 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    18G1.  65 

relate  to  you  a  somewhat  laconic  conversation  winch 
took  place  between  a  regular  scion  of  the  F.  F.  V.'s 
and  myself.  He  was  really  a  Southern  aristocrat, 
educated  and  refined,  but  prejudiced  withal,  —  such 
a  young  man  as  you  have  seen,  in  times  past,  at 
father's  table,  a  courteous,  polished  guest. 

He  was  standing  leaning  against  a  tree,  looking 
rather  fiercely  around  him,  but  every  Inch  the  gen- 
tleman. 

-  I  addressed  a  few  remarks  to  him,  in  courteous 
tones,  and  offered  to  bind  up  his  bleeding  arm  till 
the  surgeon  came.  He  refused,  saying  it  was  noth- 
ing ;  and  then,  eyeing  me  earnestly  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, inquired,  — 

**  Are  there  many  in  your  army  like  yourself?" 

'*  In  what  respect?" 

**  In  your  position  in  life." 

«' Thousands!" 

*«  What  do  you  fight  us  for  ?  " 

'«  For  the  love  of  country,  and  yonder  stars  and 
stripes." 

**  We  fight  for  our  homes  and  hearths,  and  to  repel 
Northern  invasion." 

* «  Do  you  read  the  newspapers  ?  " 

Haughtily  :   "  Of  course." 

*'  Who  commenced  the  war,  fired  the  first  shot?  " 

**  We  were  compelled   to  it.     We   had   asserted 
our  independence,  and  didn't  want  your  troops  in 
our  ports,   in  and  upon  our  territory." 
6* 


6G  ECHOES   FIIOM    THE   GUN   OF    18G1. 

*' Who  had  troops,  arms,  and  ammunition  ready 
for  this  struggle  ?  " 

*'  We,  to  be  prepared  for  this  very  invasion." 

*'  Whew  !  Yet  you,  — your  press,  rather,  —  say 
that  we  are  a  nation  of  cowards,  mudsills,  worship- 
pers of  the  dollar,  Yankee  pedlers,  &c.  Such  a  foe 
would  hardly  require  such  extensive  preparation." 

"  We  expected  to  intimidate  you,  and  save  blood- 
shed." 

'*  What  do  you  think  7iow  ?  " 

'*  We  have  beaten  you." 

*'  Yes,  to-doy.    But  that  is  evading  the  question." 

«*  Well,  we  think  you  can  fight." 

**  Yes,  we  ca?i,  and  we  shalL" 

**  We  are  prepared  for  Lincoln's  hordes." 

"  Excuse  me,  but  I  must  laugh." 

Defiantly  :  *'  At  what,  sir?" 

**  At  that  expression.  I  used  to  read  about  Attila 
and  his  hordes ;  and  to  hear  these  words  applied  to 
our  Northern  troops,  mustered  by  our  good  Father 
Abraham  !  Excuse  me,  but  isn't  it  of  the  hifalutiu' 
style  of  talk?" 

**  I  admit  that  you  are  a  better  set  of  men  than  we 
expected  to  meet ;  but  we  suppose  you  have  taken 
all  your  best  men  to  meet  this  emergency." 

*'  You  shall  see." 

Defiantly  again:  **Many  or  few,  good  or  bad, 
we  are  ready  for  you,  and  shall  fight  to  the  death  ! " 

**  Be  sure  ;  so  shall  we." 


ECHOES   FROM    THE    GUN    OF    lSt)l.  67 

**  But  we  fight  for  our  homes  and  hearths;  you 
for  an  idea." 

**  A  grand  idea,  granting  that  to  be  the  fact." 

**  Yes,  it's  plain  ymt  think  it  so.  I  saw  you  in 
the  heat  of  the  fight.  Our  company  opposed  yours  ; 
and  when  I  &aw  how  you  and  others  fought,  I 
thought  better  of  you,  as  men  of  pluck,  than  I  ever 
did  before.  But  I  detest  your  wicked  invasion, 
and  your  meddlesome  interference  with  us  and  our 
rights.  Still,  I  must  admit  that  there  are  some  men 
of  honor,  and  gentlemen,  among  you.  But  we  have 
all  our  best  blood  in  the  field,  probably  far  outnum- 
bering yours,  of  equal  rank." 

I  looked  askance,  at  this,  at  a  *'poor  white," 
who,  also  a  prisoner,  lounged  upon  the  ground,  — 
a  wretched  object,  but  the  tenth  part  of  a  man  in 
appearance,  —  at  least,  as  I  reckon  manhood. 

**  Yes,"  he  said,  answering  my  look,  *'  we  have 
such  men  in  our  army ;  but  we  have,  too,  the  flower 
of  Southern  chivalry." 

He  was  a  prisoner,  and  I  thought  it  ignoble  to 
taunt  him,  or  I  should  have  said,  '*  It  will  take  a 
great  many  flowers  to  counterbalance  such  weeds 
as  that ;  "  so  I  made  him  no  reply,  but  went  off*  to 
find  the  surgeon  ;  for  his  increasing  paleness  proved 
that  his  wound  was  more  severe  than  he  was  willing 
to  acknowledge. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

HORACE   POSTS    HIS   PICKETS. 

Meantime,  while  Thornton  is  busy  in  camp,  or 
on  the  field,  -what  are  the  family  at  home  about? 

Up  and  doing,  every  one. 

Mr.  Grey. gives  freely  of  his  time,  his  money,  and 
his  correct  and  mature  judgment,  to  help  on  the  cause 
of  right. 

So  also  does  Mrs.  Grey,  in  her  sphere  ;  and 
most  bravely,  too,  she  bears  the  burden  of  anxiety 
for  her  son's  safety,  —  so  bravely,  those  who  never 
look  beneath  the  surface  call  her  a  Spartan  mother, 
and  wonder  at  her  cool  and  calm  manner.  Xo  eye 
but  that  of  the  AU-Merciful  One  sees  her  agony  and 
grief.  He  sees,  and  pities  and  strengthens  her  ;  and 
she  goes  on  wdth  the  work  that  her  hand  findeth 
for  her  to  do,  and  in  it  she  gains  the  best  relief  to 
her  anxious  heart. 

Esther  St.  John  has  found  her  work,  —  not  quiet- 
ly at  home,  like  her  sister,  but  in  hospital  service  ; 
and  so  engrossed  is  she  in  it,  that  she  has  no  tinfe  to 
regret  that  she  Is  not  a  man,  — for,  in  fact,  in  this 
service,  if  anywhere,  a  true  woman  has  no  time  for 
idle  lamentations. 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN  OF    1861.  69 

Margaret  knits  socks  and  makes  shirts  for  the  sol- 
diers, and  fashions  for  them  the  prettiest  little  thread- 
cases,  weaving  in  with  her  stitches  many  a  kind  wish 
for  the  soldier-boy,  fresh  and  warm  from  her  tender 
heart. 

Horace  Is  trying,  too,  to  learn  to  knit ;  but  I  will 
tell  you,  confidentially,  that  I  do  not  think  he  will 
succeed  in  helping  the  soldiers  much  In  this  way. 
He  Is  too  restless.  '  He  drops  stitch  after  stitch,  and 
as  they  go  down,  he  looks  despairingly  at  them,  and 
begs  Margaret  to  takQ,  them  up  scientifically.  He 
can't  be  made  to  see  through  the  Intricacies  of  seam 
and  narrow,  and  slip  and  bind,  and  finally  tosses  his 
knitting  In  the  air,  and  rushes  out  of  doors  for  a  vent 
to  his  pent-up  spirits,  and  races  with  Caesar.  It  is 
true,  I  am  getting  before  my  story,  for  It  is  now 
July,  and  Horace  didn't  take  his  knitting-lessons 
tiirautumn ;  but  I  am  telling  you,  In  a  general  way, 
how  they  all  worked.  In  one  fashion  and  another. 

As  for  St.  John,  he  possessed  his  soul  In  patience 
as  long  as  he  could,  and  contented  himself  as  best 
he  might  in  helping  his  fother  and  mother,  In  'small 
ways;  but  when  the  second  great  uprising  of  the 
loyal  North  came,  he  could  forbear  no  longer.  So, 
one  day,  he  sought  Mr.  Grey,  and  said,  — 
**  Father." 

*<  Well,  my  son,  what  Is  It?  " 
*'  I  must  do  more  for  my  country  than  I   am  now 
dolnfi-.     You  know  Sam  Drew,  sir  !  " 


70  ECHOES   FROM  THE   GUN   OF   1861. 

**  Yes,  St.  John  ;  what  of  him?" 

«*  He  is  clerk  in  the  city,  and  gets  a  good  salary, 
upon  which  his  mother  and  young  brothers  and  sis- 
ters depend  mainly  for  their  support.  He  would 
gladly  go  to  the  war.  He 's  a  stout,  strong,  healthy 
fellow.  His  mother  will  not  refuse  her  consent. 
INIay  I  take  his  place,  do  his  work  for  the  benefit  of 
his  family,  and  let  him  go  ?  " 

*'  Have  you  thought  this  matter  over  in  all  its 
bearings,  St.  John?" 

*'  Yes,  sir,  in  all." 

**  Veiy  well,  then,  I  do  not  object,  and  will  make 
but  one  condition :  if  your  health  fails,  I  must  find 
another  to  do  the  work.  The  sacrifice  you  make  to 
your  taste,  I  know  you  will  readily  bear." 

*<  A  small  one,  sir,  to  one  who  longs  to  give  his 
life  to  his  country.  You  hare  removed  the  only  ob- 
stacle by  promising  to  fill  my  place  if  my  health 
fails." 

You  see  St.  John  made  neither  his  youth  nor  his 
delicate  health  an  excuse  for  doing  nothing.  He 
could  not  do  what  he  lono-ed  to  do  with  all  the  earn- 

o 

est  ardor  of  an  enthusiastic  nature,  —  go  forth,  with 
Thornton,  to  active  service  ;  but  here  was  a  work  he 
could  do  for  the  cause,  —  a  most  distasteful  work,  it 
is  true,  and  one  requiring  him  to  give  up  his  books 
and  studies,  —  for  all  the  leisure  he  would  have  he 
must  now  devote  to  rest  and  exercise,  —  yet  he  was 
ready  to  do  it.  Did  not  he  control  circumstances, 
and  noblv.  too  ? 


ECHOES   FKOM   THE    GUN    OF    1861.  71 

Thornton's  sii«rgcstion  to  Horace,  that  he 'should 
figlit  battles  at  home,  while  he  was  fighting  abroad, 
pleased  that  restless  lad's  fancy.  No  other  form  of 
suii'^estin":  to  him  that  he  must  learn  to  be  his  own 
master  before  he  could  hope  to  control  others  would 
have  had  so  much  influence  with  him. 

*'Pooh!"  he  said,  *'I'll  let  Thorn  see  I  can 
fight  myself,  as  well  as  another  chap.  I  've  had  a 
few  skirmishes  before  now  with  Horace  Grey,  that 
nobody,  unless  it 's  mother,  knows  anything  about. 
I  mean  to  have  a  regular  pitched  battle  next  time 
there  's  occasion." 

There  soon  was  an  occasion  ;  but  he  shall  tell  his 
own  story  to  you  as  he  told  it  to  Thornton. 

July,  '61.  Well,  old  chap,  you  are  in  a  fair 
way  to  get  all  the  Sleepy  PIollow  taken  out  of  you. 
I  'm  following  your  course,  and  that  of  the  other 
boys,  pretty  closely,  and  I  guess  I  shall  see  what 
you  all  make  out  of  circumstances.  Mother  told  me 
your  plan.  I  'm  glad  you  let  me  find  out  for  myself, 
and  don't  give  me  a  little  preach  every  now  and  then, 
saying,  "  You  see  how  this  and  that  caused  t'other," 
as  if  a  boy  of  common  sense  could  n't  tell  that  two 
and  two  make  four  !  Give  my  respects  to  Pat,  and 
tell  him  I  shake  hands  with  him,  and  have  longed 
many  a  time  to  pitch  into  somebody  or  other. 

I  s'pose  't  is  n't  magnanimous  (I  can  spell  the 
word,  and  that's  the  rule,  1  believe,  for  using  big 


72  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN  OF   1861. 

ones)  to  triumph  over  a  beaten  man,  so  I  won't  do 
it ;  but,  instead,  I  '11  tell  you  about  my  Bull  Run 
and  Manassas  fight,  and  how  I  came  oflf  with  flying 
colors,  victor. 

You  know  a  lot  of  us  chaps  have  been  tutored  by 
Mr.  Lowell.  "Well,  he  took  the  war  fever  desper- 
ately, and  now  he  's  off  as  chaplain,  much  to  our 
vexation,  for  he  was  such  a  good,  easy  soul,  we  had 
gay  times  at  school.  Now  we  have  a  Mr.  Marsh, 
and  we  don't  like  him,  and  we  should  hate  him,  only 
we  can't  quite  get  up  to  that,  he  's  such  a  gentleman. 
He^s  his  own  master,  anyhow. 

Well,  we  'd  loafed  and  idled  so  long  that  we  found 
it  pretty  hard  to  come  to  terms,  — a  few  of  us,  at 
least,  for  some  of  the  boys  are  like  lambs.  Well, 
Hal,  and  Van,  and  Court,  and  Steve,  and  I,  thought 
we  'd  try  and  see  how  far  we  could  go  with  the  new 
man  without  being  brought  up.  So,  one  day,  we 
came  to  recitation  with  never  a  word  of  our  lesson 
learned.  Mr.  Marsh  looked  us  through  and  through, 
and  then  said,  — 

<*  How's  this,  boys?" 

*' Please,  sir,"  said  Van,  as  soft  as  silk,  "we 
didn't  have  time.  We  never  had  to  get  such  hard 
lessons." 

*'  It's  time  you  commenced  then.  I  shall  expect 
the  lesson  prepared  before  you  go  home." 

He  was  n't  one  bit  cross,  but  just  spoke  and  looked 
as  much  as  to  say,  **  I'm  master  here." 


ECHOES   FROM   Till!    GUN   OF    18G1.  73 

You  better  believe  we  growled  and  scolded  well 
when  we  met  again,  on  our  way  home,  after  having 
lost  our  fun  at  recess,  and  lost  having  our  own  w^ay, 
too.  I  felt  mutinous  enough ;  but  I  thought  I  'd 
fight  this  little  skirmish  with  myself,  and  then  I 
should  get  my  hand  in  before  the  pitched  battle 
came  on.  So  I  got  my  lesson,  and  so  did  the  rest, 
after  a  fashion.  When  we  had  finished,  Mr.  Marsh 
said  to  us  all,  but  he  looked  at  me,  — 

**  Xow  I  see  what  you  are  capable  of,  I  shall  be 
less  lenient  in  future." 

That  roiled  me,  —  it  sounded  like  a  threat,  —  so 
I  felt  all  ready  to  join  in  with  the  other  boys,  who 
wanted  to  get  up  a  row.  I  could  n't  see  exactly 
where  the  "leniency"  came  in.  I'd  had  to  eat 
humble  pie,  lose  my  play  time,  and  learn  my  lesson. 
So  when  the  boys  proposed  a  general  stampede  from 
school  hours,  next  morning,  and  to  trust  to  luck  for 
the  end  of  the  scrape,  I  thought  I  'd  join.  I  thought 
't  would  be  good  fun,  too,  to  see  what  he  'd  do  to  us, 
—  nothing  very  dreadful,  we  thought.  I  didn't 
pledge  myself,  though,  and  only  said  he  was  a  mean 
old  thing,  and  I  'd  like  to  plague  him.  We  thought 
the  worst  he  'd  do  would  be  to  give  us  a  flogging, 
and  as  that  would  be  a  novelty,  we'd  like  to  try 
it.  We  agreed  to  meet  in  Van's  grove  at  half 
past  eight  in  the  morning,  and  decide  finally  about 
it.  When  I  got  home,  somehow  I  thought  mother 
looked  sad,  and  then  I  thought  I  should  n't  like  to 
7 


74  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    1861. 

worry  her.  I  thought  I  'd  think  it  all  over  when  I 
went  to  bed ;  but  I  was  so  sleepy,  I  could  n't,  and 
off  I  went  to  sleep  in  the  midst  of  the  pros  and  cons. 
I  waked  uj)  with  a  sort  of  feeling  that  the  cons  had 
it.  Any  way,  I  did  n't  get  my  lesson,  and  went  to 
the  grove,  as  I  promised,  and  found  the  other  boys 
thought  it  was  a  settled  thing,  and  were  making 
their  plans  for  the  day. 

'*  Kot  so  fast,  chaps,"  said  I ;  *'  I  'm  on  the  fence 
yet,  —  have  n't  quite  made  up  my  mind  to  go  in  for 
this  thing,  —  don't  quite  *  see  it '  yet." 

'*  What  a  spoony,  to  back  out  now  !  "  said  Hal. 
**  Been  to  see  little  what 's-his-name,  no-legs,  up 
there,  and  he  wouldn't  let  you  join  the  rowdies,  eh? 
or  does  n't  your  mother  know  you  're  out  ?  " 

**  Nonsense  !  "  sneered  Van  ;  "  he 's  conscientious 
scruples,  no  doubt." 

*'  Xo,"  said  Court ;  *'  he 's  afraid,  —  let  him  go  ; 
no  cowards  train  in  this  company." 

This  fling  settled  the  question  double  quick.  Be- 
fore, I  'd  half  made  up  my  mind  to  join  the  boys,  just 
for  the  sake  of  the  scrape,  and  to  see  what  stuff  Mr. 
Marsh  was  made  of;  but  when  Court  said  that,  I 
thought  of  you,  and  what  a  rare  chance  this  was  to 
fight  the  battle ;  and  then  I  knew  I  was  n't  a  cow- 
ard, and  I  knew  the  boys  knew  it,  too.  Wasn't  I 
mad,  though  !  I  fell  just  like  a  big  beer  bottle,  all 
working  and  working  mside,  and  trying  to  get  the 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    18G1.  75 

Stopple  out ;  but  something  kept  it  down.     If  it  had 
come  out,  wouldn't  there  have  been  a  burst ! 

So  I  kept  cool  as  I  could,  and  just  thought  it 
over,  —  how  my  mother  would  feel,  what  Herbert 
would  say,  and  how  I  knew  it  would  be  wrong ;  so 
I  put  out  my  pickets,  as  you  advised,  for  I  knew 
the  battle  hadn't  come  yet,  and  that  I  might  be 
taken  prisoner  after  all,  and  said  to  Court,  step- 
ping back  as  I  spoke,  <' You  are  right;  I  shan't 
train  in  this  company  ;  whether  it  is  because  I  am  a 
coward  or  not,  I  leave  you  to  judge." 

''  Here 's  a  pretty  go  ;  sneak,  traitor,  time-server," 
said  one  and  another. 

It  was  mighty  hard  work  keeping  the  stopple  in 
then,  I  tell  you;  but  I  did,  and  just  gave  them  a  look 
and  turned  off,  when  Court,  who  was  nearest,  took 
hold  of  me  roughly,  and  said  with  a  wicked  oath, 
''  you  shan't  go  till  you  have  given  your  reasons  for 
this  mean  conduct." 

*'  Leave  ^e  alone  then.  I  thought  I  should  join 
you  at  first,  but  when  I  came  to  think  of  it,  I  knew 
it  was^n't  right." 

**  Pretty  dear,  it  shan't  do  what 's  wrong,  shall  it ; 
it'll  get  a  whipping  if  it  does,"  said  Court. 

<' Hurrah  boys,  here's  the  greatest  farce  of  the 
season.     Horace  Grey  turned  good  boy." 

There,  I've  told  you  enough,  as  long  as  you  know 
how  boys  talk, 

**  Any  how,"  said  Court,  who  is  a  regular  bully, 


76  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF   1861. 

*'  you  shall  fight  your  way  out  of  us,  if  you  want  to 
go  and  play  informer,  and  curry  favor  with  old  red- 
head." 

I  said  I  didn't  want  to  fight  then,  and  they  jeered 
at  me  again,  and  looked  as  if  they  meant  I  should  at 
any  rate. 

At  last,  Steve,  who  had  been  quiet  all  along,  said, 
**  Fair  play,  boys  ;  you  are  n't  going  to  fight  fgur  to 
one.  Let's  make  a  ring  round  him,  and  if  he  can 
break  through  and  get  over  the  fence  before  we  catch 
him,  let  him  go.     He's  not  worth  such  a  fuss." 

I  did  break  through  between  Steve  and  Van,  and 
was  over  the  fence  quick  step,  you  may  be  sure, 
and  saying,  **we'll  settle  this  another  day,  boys," 
was  off  to  school.  I  was  late,  and  not  in  the  best  of 
trim,  and  of  course  missed  in  my  lessons,  and  had  to 
bear  all  the  penalties  ;  but  no  questions  were  asked. 

I  told  mother  all  about  it,  and  she  thought  I'd 
gained  a  pretty  good  victory.  I  did  n't  know  before 
'twould  be  such  hard  work  to  fight  Horace  Grey. 
But  now  I  've  conquered  him  once,  't  will  be  easier 
next  time.  So  you  see  I  've  beaten  the  enemy,  and 
the  enemy  has  beaten  you.  I  must  brag  just  that 
little.  But  I'm  not  out  of  the  woods  yet,  for  I 
don't  know  as  I  can  keep  my  temper  if  the  boys  are 
so  aggawatin  again.     But  I  '11  try. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

HORACE    GAINS   THE    VICTORY. 

Horace  was  right ;  he  was  not  out  of  the  woods. 
I  will  relate  to  you  the  rest  of  his  battle,  or  per- 
haps I  should  call  it  his  second  engagement  with  the 
enemy,  for  although  he  described  it  to  Thornton,  it 
was  in  a  very  laconic  style,  having  exhausted  his 
writing  abilities  in  his  first  account'. 

^Ir.  Marsh,  knew  more  about  the  matter  than  the 
boys  were  aware  of,  for  he  had  been  passing  through 
the  grove  and  had  heard  their  conversation  on  the 
morning  that  Horace  had  resisted  the  boys.  Pre- 
vious to  this  he  had  looked  upon  him  as  a  boy  who 
would  give  him  a  good  deal  of  trouble.  He  mis- 
judged him,  in  fixct,  as  almost  every  one  but  his 
mother  and  St.  John,  did. 

There  are  few  persons  ^ho  discriminate  sufficiently 
in  judging  a  boy's  character,  to  see  the  difference 
between  getting  into  scrapes  from  a  love  of  fun  and 
an  excess  of  animal  spirits,  or  from  depravity  and 
wickedness.  As  soon  as  his  teacher  found  that 
Horace  could  resist  temptation,  and  conquer  his  tem- 
per, the  boy  rose  at  once  high  in  his  esteem.  He 
*7* 


78  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

did  not  abate  one  jot  of  the  penalties  he  had  Incurred 
by  his  tardiness,  and  neglect  of  lessons,  but  he 
treated  him  with  a  consideration  that  Horace  felt, 
and  the  other  boys  noticed,  at  once.  It  increased 
their  ill-will  towards  him,  and  made  them  resolve  to 
disgrace  him  if  possible. 

Mr.  j\Iarsh  had  not  called  upon  Horace  to  inform 
against  the  others,  neither  had  he  asked  them  aiiy 
questions  about  the  matter.  Such  a  course  w^as  to  be 
pursued  only  in  case  of  necessity,  and  urgent  neces- 
sity it  must  be  too.  For  he  knew  that  the  system  of 
informing  against  each  other  had  a  bad  effect  upon 
both  parties.  In  this  case  he  had  all  the  Information 
that  was  needful  for  him,  and  he  took  his  measures 
accordingly. 

When  the  truants  appeared  In  school  the  day  after 
their  voluntary  holiday,  he  took  no  notice  of  the 
matter,  but  went  on  with  the  usual  routine  of  the 
day.  When  school  was  dismissed,  however,  he  bade 
the  delinquents  remain,  and  then,  without  tempting 
them  to  equivocation  by  questions,  told  them  what 
he  had  overheard,  and  the  penalty  each  one  must 
suffer  for  his  fault. 

**  I  shall  also,"  he  said,  *'  report  to  your  parents 
this  affair,  and  ascertain  if  I  am  to  be  your  master, 
or  you  mine.  In  the  former  case,  you  will,  as  I 
have  already  told  you,  remain  one  hour  after  school 
each  day,  till  the  time  of  your  absence  is  made  up, 
learning  lessons  which  I  shall  give  out  to  you,  and 


ECHOES   FKOM   THE   GUN    OF    18G1.  79 

makinp:  up  at  home  the  duties  neglected  upon  tliat 
day.  I  shall  alao  consider  you  bound  as  manly 
boys,  and  as  the  sons  of  gentlemen,  to  a  different 
course  hereafter.  Floc^G^ins^  I  do  not  choose  to  in- 
ilict.  It  is  a  punishment  degrading  to  him  who 
inflicts,  and  to  him  who  receives  it.  In  large  public 
schools  it  doubtless  must  be  resorted  to.  I  shall  not 
resort  to  it  here.  If  milder  measures  fail,  expulsion 
shall  be  my  last  remedy." 

This  happened  on  Friday,  and  in  the  afternoon  of 
that  day  Horace  met  Van  coming  over  to  see  him. 

•**  AVe  are  to  meet  in  the  grove  to-morrow,  Hor- 
ace, and  talk  this  matter  over,"  he  said,  **  and  make 
up  our  minds  what  to  do  ;  and  we  want  you  to  come 
too.  AVe  think,  if  we  make  a  great  fuss  our  gov- 
ernors"ll  give  old  red-head  his  walking-ticket,  and 
get  somebody  who  '11  not  be  quite  so  strict  with  the 
sons  of  2:entlemen." 

*'  Be  sure  and  come  ;  nine  o'clock 's  the  time." 

**  For  what  purpose?     My  mind's  made  up  now." 

**  Well,  to  settle  old  scores  then  ;  you  promised  to 
some  time,  when  we  let  you  off  t'other  day.  We 
could  have  thrashed  you  as  easy  as  not  then.  Yes, 
or  no,  which  is  the  word?" 

**  Yes,  I '11  be  on  hand." 

Van  had  been  very  civil  thus  far,  but  as  he  turned 
to  go  he  said,  in  a  sneering  tone,  "  don't  forget." 

**  Never  fear,"  replied  Horace,  good-naturedly; 
my  memory  is  better  than  you  think." 


80  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    1861. 

**  I  must  go,"  he  said  to  himself  after  Van  left 
Him,  **I'spose  it  would  be  real  mean  not  to,  after 
what  has  happened.  I  'm  afraid  I  shall  get  hopping 
mad.  Forewarned  is  forearmed  though,  and  I'll 
put  out  my  pickets  strong  all  round,  and  if  the 
enemy  catches  me,  'twont  be  without  a  desperate 
struggle  first." 

Accordingly  at  nine  the  next  morning  Horace  met 
the  boys  at  the  grove.  They  received  him  pleasantly 
enough,  and  Court  began  widi,  "  my  constituents 
have  chosen  me  to  express  their  sentiments  for  them 
in  a  speech."  Here  he  waved  his  right  hand  to%- 
ards  the  boys  and  continued,  '*  we  think  our  liberties 
have  been  infringed  upon,  or  rather  perhaps  I  should 
say  we  think  they  are  to  be  infringed  upon  by  our 
new  instructor ;  therefore  we  deem  it  advisable  to  — 
ahem,  take  time  by  the  forelock  and  assert  ourselves 
before  we  find  ourselves  in  —  a  ^-  hem  —  such  a  fix 
we  can't  get  out  of  it.  Now  our  minds  are  made 
up,  or  at  least  nearly  so,"  he  added,  as  one  or  two 
of  the  boys  made  a  gesture  of  dissent.  **  You  see 
here  is  the  case;  we  are  the  sons*  of  rich  men,  aris- 
tocrats ;  consequently,  we  are  not  to  be  treated  like 
the  sons  of  men  in  the  lower  walks  of  life.  Coer- 
cion (that's  the  crack  word  now)  '11  do  for  tJiem, 
never  for  m.  Our  fathers  don't  wish  us  to  be  coerced 
into  study.  They  believe  it  will  be  far  more  politic 
if  the  powers  that  be  (otherwise,  old  red-head)  yield 
a  little,  compromise  a  little ;  at  least  we  believe  it 


ECHOES    FROM   THE   GUN    OF    1861.  81 

aiKl  of  course  our  fatliers  are  dutiful  enough  to  agree 
with  us.  To  be  sure,  red-head  has  n't  done  anything 
very  bad  yet,  only  to  require  us  to  get  our  lessons 
and  obey  him.  But  It  Is  plain  he  Is  prepared  to  be  a 
terrible  tyrant  If  once  he  gets  firm  hold  of  the  reins 
of  government.  He  does  n't  know  how  to  manage 
m;  as  how  should  he,  a  Connecticut  yankee,  son  or 
nephew  at  least  to  a  tin  pedler  or  wooden  nutmeg 
dealer.  I  don't  know  what  he  Is,  but  I  infer  It,  and 
our  class  are  quick  at  Inferences.  So  the  long  and 
short  of  it  Is,  friends,  we  intend  to  secede,  and  either 
o-overn  ourselves  or  choose  a  teacher  who  will  respect 
our  feelings  and  prejudices.  We  have  with  us  an 
old  and  long-cherished  institution,  one  dear  as  life 
to  all  our  hearts ;  that  of  having  our  own  way, 
and  we  cannot,  no,  we  will  not,  give  it  up  ;  better  far 
to  die  a  thousand  deaths  than  thus  Ignobly  yield. 
My  brothers,  my  constituents,  I  hope  and  I  believe, 
we  are  of  one  mind  upon  this  subject.  Some  great 
man  has  said  a  —  a  —  divided  we, — no  that  is  not 
it.  United  we  stand,  divided  we  fall.  Friends, 
countrymen,  lovers,  am  I  right,  — are  we  united?  I 
see  but  one  dissentient  face." 

**I  hear  a  sound  you  cannot  hear,  I  see  a  sight 
you  cannot  see.  So  please  stop.  Master- Courtland 
Templeton ;  your  constituents  respond  to  your  very 
eloquent  and  original  address,  and  pronounce  it  a 
very  nice  hash  from  the  Sunny  South,  Yankeedom, 
and  Rome.    We  were  all  convinced  before  you  began 


82  ECHOES    FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

and  are  *  more  so '  now ;  even  Master  Horace  Grey, 
whilom  so  near  becoming  a  traitor  is  all  right,  and 
goes  in  for  secession  strong.  I  propose  three  cheers 
and  a  tiger  for  our  representative's  thrilling  and  pat- 
riotic address." 

The  above  interruption  was  made  by  Van,  who  had 
long  been  fidgetting  under  Court's  protracted  speech. 
Three  cheers  and  a  tiger  were  given,  and  then  there 
was  a  pause,  an  evident  waiting  for  Horace. 

He  straightened  himself  up  from  a  leaning  posture 
asralnst  a  tree,  looked  around  with  a  half  smile,  and 
said,  *'  &s  quotation  is  the  order  of  the  day  I  begin 
vnth 

'  He  who  is  convinced  against  his  will, 
Holds  to  the  same  opinion  still." 

* '  I  bow  to  the  eloquence  and  unanswerable  argu- 
ments of  Master  Templeton,  but  as  I  find  myself  in 
that  singular  predicament  of  being  at  once  party  and 
leader,  constituent  and  speaker,  my  words  in  reply 
shall  be  few. 

"Briefly,  then,  I  have  decided  not  to  secede,  but  to 
submit  to  coercion,  or  in  other  words  to  obey  Mr. 
Marsh's  rules  and  conform  to  hfe  wishes,  at  least 
until  he  proves  himself  a  tyrant.  As  for  the  notion 
some  of  you  entertain  that  I  was  pledged  to  join  you 
the  other  day,  it  is  a  mistake.  I  told  you  I  'd  think 
about  it.  I  did  think  about  it,  and  I  thought  I 
would  n't.     I  have  nothing  more  to  say." 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    18G1.  83 

*»  But  by  —  "  (find  here  Hal,  for  he  it  was  who  had 
started  forward  when  Horace  finished,  swore  a  wick- 
ed oath) ,  ''  u-e  have  a  great  deal  more  to  say  about  it. 
If  you  do  not  join  us  we  will  be  revenged  upon  you 
in  one  way  or  another.  War  it  shall  be  between  us 
now  and  forever.  If  you  join  these  sneaking  goody 
fellows,  who  will  do  anything  to  curry  favor,  we  will 
have  nothing  more  to  do  with  you,  in  school  or  out, 
except,''  he  added,  maliciously,  "  to  take  our  revenge 
on  you  ;  and  we  shall  consider  you  as  a  mean,  cow- 
ardly chap." 

''  Can't  help  it  if  you  do  ;  my  mind  is  made  up ; 
and  I've  as  good  a  right  to  take  my  way  as  you 
yours.  It  takes  two  sides  to  make  a  quarrel,  and 
i  've  none  with  you.  I  don't  wish  to  lose  your  friend- 
ship, but  I  can  bear  even  that  in  a  good  cause." 

* '  Let  it  go  home  to  its  own  mammy  and  its  saint 
of  a  brother,  and  be  fed  on  sugar-plums,  and  be  cos- 
seted for  being  good,  and  then  it  shall  go  to  its  little 
pretty  playmate,  and  make  dolls  and  jackstraws,  it 
shall,"  said  Van,  in  his  most  sneering  tones. 

Ridicule  is  a  powerful  weapon,  and  boys  and  girls 
are  particularly  susceptible  to  it,  not  having  learned 
that,  which  is  a  hard  lesson  for  any  to  learn,  — to  be 
indifferent  to  the  laugh  it  occasions. 

Horace  heard  the  other  boys  laugh,  all  but  Steve, 
and  he  found  now  w^as  his  hour  of  danger,  and  the 
need  he  had  of  the  picket  guard  he  had  stationed 
around  his  camp.  Do  you  wish  to  know  what  this 
guard  was? 


84  ECHOES   FROM  THE   GUN  OF   1861. 

Thoughts  of  the  promise  he  had  made  his  brother, 
Thornton,  of  his  mother,  and  of  what  was  right  and 
just.  These  thoughts  secured  him  from  quite  falling 
into  the  enemy's  power.  The  fling  about  dolls  and 
jackstraws  irritated  him  exceedingly.  He  had  em- 
ployed some  leisure  rainy  days  in  helping  Herbert 
paint  a  military  company  designed  for  a  fair  to  be 
held  by  some  little  girls  in  the  neighborhood,  in  be- 
half of  the  soldiers,  and  also  in  whittling  out  jack- 
straws  for  the  same  purpose.  The  boys  had  laughed 
at  him  at  the  time,  called  him  a  Miss  Nancy  and  a 
Yankee,  and  advised  him  to  open  a  toy-shop ;  but 
he  had  laughed  it  off,  and  given  them  back,  as  he 
said,  as  good  as  they  sent. 

He  was  in  no  mood  for  laus^hino^  now.  He  was 
very  angry,  —  what  boys  call  mad,  in  fact,  —  and  it 
was  hard  fighting.  The  enemy  beset  him  before  and 
behind,  and  he  could  with  a  hearty  good-will  have 
pitched  (I  use  the  phrase  that  expresses  his  feeling) 
into  Van  then  and  there,  and  stopped  his  taunts 
about  hife  mother  and  Herbert.  He  did  not  yield, 
however.  He  gained  a  great  victory,  —  a  victory 
it  was,  although  he  was  angry,  for  he  kept  back  the 
expression  of  his  feelings.  And  while  he  was  thus 
manfully  fighting  his  battle,  lo  !  a  new  ally  appeared 
in  the  person  of  Steve  Harwood.  He  stepped  for- 
ward and  said,  — 

*  *  It 's  a  mighty  poor  cause  that  needs  ridicule  to 
uphold  itc     I  join  Horace  now." 


ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1801  85 

Were  n't  the  three  boys  left  vexed  enough  !  To 
use  one  of  their  own  favorite  expressions,  **  you'd 
better  believe  "  they  were,  not  only  vexed  and  angry, 
but  mad,  —  raging  like  wild  creatures.  All  the 
epithets  at  command  of  Yan  w^ere  freely  bestowed 
upon  first  Horace,  and  then  Steve ;  and  Van's  vo- 
cabulary of  **  naughty  words  "  was  neither  small  nor 
choice.  It  was  bad  enough  for  Horace  to  have  de- 
serted them,  —  Horace,  whose  father  was  a  rich  and 
influential  man  in  the  neighborhood, — but  that  was 
trifling  to  Steve's  loss  to  their  side.  Steve  was  the 
oldest  of  them  all,  between  fifteen  and  sixteen,  aiid 
his  father  was  quite  the  nabob  of  the  place ;  and  he, 
Steve,  had  unlimited  powers  at  home,  —  so,  at  least, 
the  boys  thought,  —  and  upon  his  influence  they  had 
reckoned  to  carry  out  their  foolish  scheme.  Without 
him,  they  saw  only  discomfiture  and  final  submission. 

"  Come  on,  then,  cowards  and  deserters,  and  fight 
it  out !  "  roared  Hal. 

*'No,"  said  Steve,  calmly,  «'we'll  not  fight. 
Horace  is  in  the  right ;  but,  for  all  that,  as  I  hate 
to  study,  I  dare  say  I  should  have  kept  with  you  if 
you  hadn't  used  unfair  weapons.  I  think  the  mean- 
ness and  cowardice  comes  in  where  you  twit  a  boy 
about  his  mother  and  his  kindness  to  a  poor  de- 
formed fellow.  That 's  my  opinion,  and  you  can 
take  it  free  gratis,  and  make  the  most  of  it.  I 
think,  too,"  he  added,  changing  his  tone,  "  the  best 
thing  you  can  do  is  to  let  this  rest,  and  come  to 
8 


86  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

school  Monday  In  an  orderly  fashion.  Come,  Hor- 
ace. Good  morning,  boys,  and  a  better  mind  to 
you  when  we  meet  again." 

The  immediate  result  of  this  affair  was  a  request 
on  the  part  of  the  fathers  of  the  refractory  boys  that 
Mr.  Marsh  should  remain,  promising  good  behavior 
on  behalf  of  their  sons  for  the  future. 

When  the  boys  met  at  school  the  following  Mon- 
day, the  three  would-be  seceders  were  very  civil,  and 
apparently  on  friendly  terms  with  the  others. 

'*  A  violent  storm  soon  blown  over,"  said  Horace 
to  Steve. 

**  Humph!  I've  heard  of  storms  blowing  over, 
and  coming  up  again  in  another  quarter  of  the  heav- 
ens. They  haven't  done  with  us  yet;  but  I'm  not 
afraid.  As  for  you,  Horace,  you  did  well,  and 
made  me  feel  ashamed  of  myself." 


CHAPTER  X. 

THORNTON  LEARNS  BY  EXPERIENCE  THE  TRUTH 
OF  AN  OLD  PROVERB. 

I  TOLD  you,  at  the  beginning  of  this  story,  that  it 
would  not  be  a  connected  history  of  a  soldier's  life  in 
the  army,  but  a  series  of  sketches  and  incidents,  il- 
lustrative of  the  different  phases  of  his  experience, 
and  of  the  leading  idea  of  the  book.  Therefore,  I 
now  make  a  long  leap,  from  the  time  of  Thornton's 
first  bloody  and  fearful  battle,  to  a  period  of  com- 
parative rest  and  ''  masterly  inactivity." 

January,  '62.  Well,  Horace,  my  young  fighter, 
we've  been  having  a  pretty  queer  muddle  of  an  ex- 
perience since  I  last  journalized  for  your  benefit,  — 
a  mingling  of  the  serious  and  comic,  —  out  of  which 
I  leave  you  to  gather  hints  to  aid  and  fun  to  amuse 

you. 

A  pretty  serious  matter  it  was  to  our  company,  a 
week  ago,  when,  about  four  in  the  morning,  we  were 
tumbled  out  of  our  tents,  with  the  order  to  fall  in, 
stumbling  over  each  other  and  every  tumble-over- 
able  article  near,  and  sent  off  a  mile  in  pursuit  of  a 


88  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

small  body  of  Rebels,  who  were  quietly  waiting  for 
the  morning  light  to  do  us  some  mischief,  —  so,  at 
least,  the  report  had  come  to  us.  Of  course,  they 
did  n't  mean  a  serious  attack,  but  had  their  eye  upon 
some  supplies  they  thought  were  in  an  available  posi- 
tion for  a  raid. 

Our  captain,  Ned  Howe,  of  whom  I  spoke  as  be- 
longing to  our  set  in  the  city,  led  us  a  pretty  wild- 
goose  chase.  Under  the  influence  of  that  subtle 
enemy  which  steals  away  the  brains,  he  mistook  his 
orders,  and  marched  us  oflf  into  a  morass,  after 
floundering  through  which,  we  brought  up  square 
against  a  wood  too  tliick  to  be  a  hiding-place  for 
any  but  Lilliputian  warriors,  and  were  ordered  to 
fire ;  which  we  did  in  the  dim  light  of  the  waning 
moon,  and  received  for  response  the  echo  of  our  own 
fire^ms,  followed  by  curses  loud  and  deep  from  our 
own  men  upon  the  discovery  that  the  enemy  was  n't 
*'thar." 

It  was  some  time  before  Captain  Howe  recovered 
his  wits  enough  to  be  made  to  realize  his  blunder ; 

and  when  he  did,  he  swore  roundly  that  the  

Rebels  had  given  him  the  slip,  and  gone  round 
't  other  way  ! 

We  returned  to  camp,  angry  and  mortified,  minus 
a  good  round  of  ammunition,  and  all  our  patience, 
and  plus  a  liberal  coating  of  mud,  and  aching  limbs. 

Ned  was  Jiot  discharged,  —  O,  no  !  The  matter 
was  hushed  up  in  some  remarkable  manner;   and, 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN    OF    18C1.  89 

because  he  was  high  in  office,  and  had  Influential 
friends,  he  was  allowed  to  remain  and  lead  his  men 
into  the  cannon's  mouth,  or,  still  more  trying  to  us, 
into  ridiculous  and  shameful  positions. 

Meantime,  while  we  had  marched  through  the 
swpjnp  and  back  again,  another  company,  ordered 
out  to  support  us,  had  taken  the  right  direction, 
bagged  the  enemy  mostly,  and  were  quietly  resting 
on  their  laurels  when  we  got  back. 

Our  fellow-soldiers  twitted  us  for  a  time  with  sly 
allusions  to  safe  mistakes,  verdant  groves,  and  Vir- 
ginia mud,  till  they  were  coolly  informed  'twas 
hardly  prudent  to  make  game  of  us  for  one  man's 
sin. 

Xow,  Horace,  I  must  say  a  few  words  to  you 
about  the  mischief  done,  disgrace  and  ruin  wrought, 
by  that  one  vice,  intemperance. 

The  privates,  of  course,  can't  get  liquor,  except  in 
some  rare  cases  of  smuggling,  and  private  barter 
with  friendly  Rebs.  The  officers  can,  and  do.  So 
our  country,  engaged  in  a  war  which  should  check 
all  the  lower  vices,  and  call  out  every  noble  feeling, 
presents  to  the  world  the  spectacle  of  brave,  self- 
sacrificing  men  led  to  the  front  of  battle  by  officers 
who  have  not  yet  learned  to  control  their  appetites, 
and  who,  under  the  dominion  of  intemperance,  have 
caused  the  destruction  of  their  subordinates.  I  know 
very  many  of  our  officers  are  as  noble  and  true  men 
in   every  respect  as  the  world  ever  saw,  —  brave, 


90  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

feelf-sacrificing,  unflinching,  masters  of  themselves 
and  thpir  soldiers  ;  but  there  are  all  too  many  who 
are  the  reverse  of  all  this, — cowards,  because  too 
timid  to  resist  evil  desires ;  selfish,  because  forgetful 
of  their  great  responsibilities ;  vacillating,  because 
their  heads  are  dizzy  and  bewildered  with  their  po- 
tations. 

Touch  not,  taste  not,  handle  not  the  vile  poison ; 
abjure  it  forever,  now  while  you  are  young,  if  you 
would  be  a  man  and  not  a  brute.  Some  of  the  offi- 
cers who  are  intemperate  abstain  from  the  immoderate 
use  of  liquor  till  the  battle  is  over,  and  then  get 
beastly  drunk.  Coarse  language,  you  will  say,  as 
applied  to  gentlemen.  ( ?)  No  language  is  coarse 
enough  to  express  the  vileness  of  the  habit,  none 
strong  enough  to  portray  the  mischief  its  indulgence 
causes. 

Imagine,  though  I  loathe  the  thought  of  describ- 
ing such  a  scene  to  you,  imagine  one  of  our  brave 
officers,  who  in  battle  has  had  the  look  and  bearing 
almost  of  a  God  among  men,  so  royally  did  he  bear 
upon  his  face  the  image  and  daring  of  a  hero, 
imagine  him  lying  upon  the  floor  of  his  tent,  either 
a  senseless  brute,  too  steeped  in  liquor  to  be  conscious 
of  anything,  or  looking  a  very  baboon,  wit  a  his  leer- 
ing visage,  his  thick  speech,  or  senseless  jargon.  A 
brute,  did  I  say?  I  ask  pardon  of  the  brute  creation 
for  the  insult.  Look  at  his  horse,  and  »see  how  far 
nobler  an  animal  he  is  of  the  two  !     Again,  I  say 


ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUX   OF    1801.  91 

to  you  touch  not,  taste  not,  handle  not  the  vile  stuff. 
The  temptation  to  indulge  is  strong  for  one  who  has 
the  appetite,  either  before  or  after  battle,  either  as  a 
help  to  greater  courage,  or  as  a  relief  from  weariness 
and  exhaustion.  But  enou£:h  of  this.  If  Ned  Howe 
doesn't  lead  himself  and  us  into  trouble  before  he's 
done  with  us,  I  shall  be  glad  to  prove  a  false  proph- 
et, —  but  he  has  taken  a  good  many  downward  steps 
since  we  left  home.  In  the  army,  if  never  before  in 
this  life,  one  realizes  the  force  of  the  petition,  lead 
us  not  into  temptation. 

Should  you  like  to  have  an  account  of  one  of  our 
foraging  expeditions?  Yes,  I  know  that  will  be 
something  after  your  own  heart.  You  may  not  be 
surprised  to  hear  that  we  have  not  met  with  the  far- 
famed  Virginia  hospitality,  and  hence  that  we  have 
been  under  the  necessity  of  taking  the  matter  into 
our  own  hands,  and  supply  ourselves,  with  the  per- 
mission of  our  superior  officers,  of  course.  The 
craving  for  fresh  meat  and  soft  bread  becomes  pretty 
strong  after  a  long  diet  on  salt  horse  (as  some  of 
our  men  disrespectfully  call  the  beef) ,  and  hard  tack, 
and  when  these  latter  articles  become  scarce,  it  is 
quite  useless  to  forbid  the  men  from  taking  what  they 
can  find  from  their  enemies.  This  is  the  case  now,  — 
rain  and  mud,  —  mud,  such  as  you,  in  your  lofty 
perch  on  the  Hudson,  never  dreamed  of,  have  de- 
layed the  arrival  of  our  supplies,  and  permission  is 
given  a  certain  number  of  men,  ui\der  the  command 


92  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUX   OF    1861. 

of  a  corporal,  to  go  forth  and  see  what  they  can  find, 
under  restrictions,  ho\yever,  not  to  use  needless  vio- 
lence, or  inflict  wanton  injury  upon  anything,  or  in- 
terfere with  those  who  have  a  Government  protec- 
tion. Something  is  said,  too,  about  our  not  being 
Goths  and  Yandals,  if  we  have  the  reputation  of 
being  so ;  and  having  respectfully  received  orders, 
and  listened  to  advice,  we  decorously  march  out  of 
camp,  and  out  of  sight  of  camp.  Holdfast,  Pat, 
Brag,  myself,  and  half  a  dozen  others,  under  com- 
mand of  Corporal  Trim. 

Decorously,  while  in  sight  of  camp,  but  double 
quick,  each  at  his  own  pace  of  that  measure,  too, 
when  the  woods  are  between  us  and  our  officers. 

'*  Hoorah  for  fresh  vittles,  and  good  luck  to  that 
same  boy  that  finds  the  biggest  spoil.  An  its  meself 
that'll  rin  off  wid  the  first  pig  I  lay  me  hands  on," 
said  Pat. 

**  Be  sure  and  git  a  good  grip  on  the  cretur,  Pat ; 
them's  pesky  slippery,  them  air,"  said  Holdfast. 

**'And  be  sure  that  the  old  woman  don't  give  you 
a  hot  shower-bath  while  you  're  seizing  her  pig,"  said 
Brag.     *'  I've  heard  of  such  retaliation." 

**It's  along  of  yer  ignorance,"  retorted  Pat; 
' '  ye  suppose  I  can't  manage  any  ould  wooman  of 
em  all.  Yer  niver  saw  my  ould  wooman,  an  the 
way  I  kape  her  straight,  or  yer  would  n't  be  after 
misdoubting  me  this  way.  Was  n't  she  that  spiteful 
and  quarrelsome  loike,  that  she  kept  the  whole  neigh- 


ECHOES    FIIOM   THE    GUN   OF    18G1.  93 

borhood  in  an  uproor,  and  niver  would  live  out  to 
sarvice  at  all ;  an'  there  was  talk  of  sending  her  to 
the  House  of  Corriction,  an'  I  thought  that  was  shame 
for  her  when  she  was  the  child  of  my  fourth  cousin 
removed,  in  the  ould  counthry,  an'  so  I  jes  married 
her,  and  be  me  faith  and  St.  Patrick,  she's  as  quite 
as  a  lamb  sence." 

"Waal,  I  call  that  ar  reel  grit,"  said  Holdfast. 
*'  I've  faced  many  a  wild  cretur  in  the  backwoods  to 
hum,  but  a  cantankerous  woman's  beyond  me.  I 
ain't  fraid  of  nothin'  else." 

These  words,  with  the  honest  look  of  admiration 
Holdfast  bestowed  upon  Pat,  set  us  all  into  a  roar. 
*'  Steady  there,  boys,"  said  Corporal  Trim,  who 
was  never  known  to  be  anything  but  steady  himself, 
whatever  he  was  about.  "Here's  one  place  I've 
had  my  eye  on  for  some  time." 

AVe  were  in  sight  of  one  of  those  dilapidated,  mis- 
erable-looking houses  so  common  in  Virginia,  but 
still  dignified  ( ?)  by  still  more  wretched-looking 
negro  cabins  around.  Open-mouthed  negro  children 
stared  at  us,  and  upon  our  near  approach  ran  off  to 
report  our  arrival. 

A  loud  knock  of  Corporal  Trim's  brought  to  the 
door  a  lean,  sallow- visaged  woman,  who  planted  her- 
self in  our  way,  with  arms  akimbo.  To  a  civil  de- 
mand for  food  she  answered  gruffly,  "  Reckon  you  '11 
have  to  help  yourselves ;  reckon  'taint  my  business 
to  feed  xVbe  Lincoln's  armies." 


94  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF   1861. 

*<  Thank  you,  marm,"  said  Corporal  Trim,  with 
his' most  polite  bow,  "  that's  all  we  want,  the  liberty 
to  help  ourselves.  We  didn't  know  as  you'd  like  to 
have  us  tramping  over  your  clean  floors.  Sorry  to 
trouble  you,  marm,  but  this  is  one  of  the  chances  of 
war." 

*  *  None  of  your  soft  sawder  to  me  ;  git  what  you 

kin  and  be  off  with  you  ;  hope  it  '11  choke  every 

Yankee  of  you." 

'*  I  pray,  marm,  don't  be  so  hard-hearted,  —  step 
along  boys,  steady  there." 

Nothing  loath  we  obeyed ;  and  visited  kitchen 
larder  and  cellar,  and  found  —  several  well-picked 
ham  bones,  a  little  cold  corn  bread,  and  a  little 
corn  meal. 

Holdfast,  who  had  petitioned  for  leave  to  search 
out  of  doors,  examined  the  smoke-house  with  like 
want  of  success. 

Returning  to  the  kitchen,  our  Corporal  politely 
said,  '*  Pray  what  do  you  live  upon,  marm?" 

''Anything  we  kin  pick  up,"  was  the  sullen 
answer. 

"  Small  pickens  here,"  said  Holdfast. 

"  If  you'll  allow  me,  marm,"  said  Corporal  Trim, 
stepping  towards  a  door  against  which  the  woman 
leaned  half- defiantly,  half-carelessly. 

"It's  nothin'  but  a  bedroom,  and  my  darter's 
mighty  sick  thar.  You  would  n't  be  so  barbarous  'a 
t'  sturb  her  !  " 


ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUX   OF    18G1,  95 

Now,  it  had  struck  me  that  a  frowsy  head  and  red 
face  that  we  caught  a  glimpse  of  at  the  window  as  we 
came  up,  had  nowhere  been  visible  ;  and  probably 
the  same  idea  had  occurred  to  our  Corporal,  for  he 
persisted  in  passing  the  woman,  and  opening  the 
door.  At  first  sij^^ht  nothinc;  met  our  view  but  a 
most  uncomfortable,  untidy-looking  room,  with 
heaps  of  bedclothes  upon  the  bed,  and  a  frowsy 
head  just  visible.. 

**  Bless  me,  marm,  what  a  high  fever  your  daugh- 
ter's in  !  I  served  my  time,  at  home,  in  a  Apothe- 
cary shop ;  maybe  I  could  prescribe  for  her,"  said 
Trim,  as  a  farther  entrance  into  the  room  revealed 
the  red  face  of  the  invalid. 

**  Xone  of  your  prescribin's  for  us  ;  we  don't  take 
pisins  with  our  eyes  open.  Ef  you  're  convinced  the 
gal 's  sick,  jest  step  out,  with  your  men,  ef  you  've 
any  decency  left !  " 

**'Yes,  marm,  quite  convinced,"  said  Trim,  dis- 
arrano^incj  some  of  the  bedclothes,  and  brino^in<;  to 
view  some  sacks  of  meal,  and  pointing  significantly 
under  the  bed.  "We  didn't  wait  for  farther  per- 
mission, but  dragged  out  a  couple  of  boxes,  in 
which  we  found  a  good  store  of  bacon,  and  a  small 
firkin  containing:  colors. 

Corporal  Trim  allowed  us  to  take  but  half  of  the 
spoils,  and  most  politely  bade  the  woman  good 
morning.  Her  rage  was  excessive.  No  French 
fish  wife  couki  ever  have  exceeded  her  in  the  li- 


96  ECHOES   FROM  THE   GUN   OF   1861. 

cense  she  gave  her  tongue.  Her  daughter,  too, 
recovered  sufficiently  to  join  her  mother  in  abuse 
of  us,  our  country,  our  Government,  and  our  Presi- 
dent . 

*'Whew!"  said  Trim,  when  once  more  in  the 
open  air,  *'it's  kind  of  stifled  in  there.  I  say, 
boys,  isn't  it  remarkable  that  there  should  be  eggs, 
and  no  sio^ns  of  chickens  or  hens  about  ?  Hallo  ! 
there's  a  queer  noise.  What  are  you  sitting  on, 
youngster  ?  " 

This  was  addressed  to  a  boy,  a  miniature  likeness 
of  the  fever-stricken  daughter  of  the  house,  who  sat 
perched  upon  the  top  of  a  reversed  hogshead  in  one 
corner  of  the  yard,  from  whence,  despite  a  vigorous 
whistling  on  his  part,  proceeded  strange  sounds. 

The  boy  was  speedily  dismounted  from  his  perch, 
and  the  hogshead  as  speedily  turned  over  ;  and  then 
commenced  a  regular  skedaddle  therefrom  of  hens, 
roosters,  and  chickens. 

**  Easy,  boys  ;  don't  take  many.  They  deserve  a 
reward  for  their  ingenuity  ;  and  there  's  a  prime  lot 
of  poultry  and  live  stock  on  the  next  place  we  're 
going  to,"  said  Trim. 

Rather  unwillingly  we  obeyed,  thinking  of  the  old 
proverb,  *'  A  bu-d  in  hand  is  worth  two  in  the 
bush,"  —  the  truth  of  which  we  were  doomed  to 
prove. 

*'Now,  boys,"  said  Trim,  as  we  marched  off  with 
our  spoils,  *' a  little  more  quiet  this  time.     It  isn't 


ECHOES   FKOM   THE    GUN    OF    18G1.  97 

worth  wliile  to  give  these  ci\il  people  the  trouble  to 
hide  away  their  stores,  — best  not  to  give  notice." 

Our  next  adventure  was  in  striking  contrast  to 
the  first.  True,  the  negro  children  stared  as  be- 
fore, but  did  not  run  away ;  and  the  woman  who 
opened  the  door  to  us,  after  growling  out  a  few  in- 
distinct words,  to  which  we  paid  no  heed,  contented 
herself  with  scowling  upon  and  watching  us  narrow- 
ly. I  thought  she  was  even  making  a  list  of  the 
articles  we  took ;  and  we  had  a  harvest  here,  — 
corn,  meal,  bacon,  eggs,  vegetables,  poultry,  and 
live  stock  in  abundance,  we  found  ;  and  as  there 
seemed  plenty,  we  helped  ourselves  generously. 
Pat  secured  his  pig,  aiid  the  rest  of  us  took  turkeys 
and  chickens  freely  ;  and,  finally,  when  we  w^ere  so 
loaded  we  could  n't  take  any  more,  we  left,  thanking 
our  frow^ning  hostess  for  her  liberal  contribution  to 
our  wan|s.  To  our  surprise,  she  frowned  no  longer, 
but  gave  us  a  grin  which  w^e  were  at  a  loss  to  inter- 
pret ;  for  it  was  of  that  nature  that  did  n't  indicate 
much  good  will.  The  interpretation  came  soon 
enough,  however. 

Well,  we  had  a  jolly,  if  a  heavy,  march  home  to 
the  camp  ;  and  our  mouths  watered  as  we  revelled  in 
luxuries  in  imagination,  and  had  our  *'  chicken  fix- 
ins  "  prepared  to  our  taste.  Chickens  are  rather  a 
luxury  at  home,  but  you  can't  tell  how  high  they 
loom  up  in  that  list  after  salt  beef,  varied  with  "salt 
beef,  week  in  and  week  out.     So  we  must  not  be  set 


98  ECHOES   FHOM    THE    GUN   OF    18C1. 

down  as  gluttons  if  *  *  chicken  fixins  "  was  still  the 
burden  of  our  song. 

But,  alas  !  alas  !  there  's  many  a  slip  between  the 
cup  and  lip.  Pride  must  have  a  fall,  and  so  did  our 
elation ;  for  we  had  no  sooner  arrived  at  camp,  told 
our  tale  most  triumphantly,  and  described  the  loca- 
tion of  the  two  plantations  we  had  visited,  than  we 
were  coolly  informed  that  the  one  we  last  visited  had 
a  Government  protection  ! 

**  Why  in  did  n't  the  hag  show   it,  then?" 

said  Corporal  Trim,  fairly  enraged  out  of  his  pro- 
priety. 

'*  Because  you  did  n't  ask  for  it,  probably ;  though 
she  says  she  did  tell  you  so,  and  you  took  no  notice 
of  her." 

*' She  says!"  said  Corporal  Trim,  aghast;  "is 
the   woman  a  witch?" 

"  Xo,  only  a  keen  woman.  She  took  a  list  of 
the  articles  you  appropriated,  and  as  soon  as  you 
were  out  of  sight,  despatched  a  fleet  messenger  to 
camp.     The  lad  is  half-way  home  now." 

**  What's   to  be  done?" 

''Return  everything  that  is  not  injured,  pay  for 
what  is,  out  of  your  own  pockets,  and  make  an 
apology,  —  at  least,  tell  the  woman  you  did  n't 
know  she  had  a   protection." 

"  She 's  as  arrant  a  Rebel  as  ever  wore  petticoats," 
said  Trim. 


ECHOES    FROM    THE    GUN    OF    18C1.  99 

*'  No  matter,"  said  our  superior  officer  ;  '*  her  hus- 
band 's  an  Unionist,  and  she  has  a  protection." 

*'Ifwe  must,  we  must,  I  s'pose,"  said  our  dis- 
comfited leader.  *'  That's  what  her  infernal  grin 
meant !  " 

I  can't  dwell  much  upon  our  return  to  the  abode 
of  plenty,  nor  its  results.  This  time  we  felt  we  were 
fair  game  to  the  rest  of  the  company,  and  so  bravely 
joined  in  the  laugh  ;  and  by  unanimous  vote,  called 
our  camp,  **  Camp  Chicken  Fixins." 

I  think  I  have  verified  to  you  the  truth  of  the  old 
proverb,  *'  There  's  many  a  slip  between  the  cup  and 
the  lip." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

INSIDIOUS    FOES. 

WjfEKS  passed,  and  nothing  occurred  on  the  part 
of  the  intended  seceders  to  confirm  Steve's  prophecy 
that  "they  hadn't  done  with  them  yet."  On  the 
contrary,  they  were  pleasant  and  conciliating  in  their 
demeanor,  and  maintained  a  better  rank  m  school 
than  ever  before.  Mr.  Marsh  treated  them  with 
kindness  and  consideration.  Horace  said,  laughing- 
ly, to  Steve,  one  day,  — 

'*  It  takes  a  long  time  for  your  storm  to  come  up. 
Guess  we  've  weathered  this  gale,  anyhow." 

Steve  shook  his  head.  He  knew  the  boys,  Hal 
and  Van,  at  least,  to  be  resentful  and  vindictive,  and 
Court  was  easily  led  by  the  others.  But  he  did  n't 
give  himself  much  trouble  about  the  matter.  He 
had  no  fears  on  his  own  part,  and  he  hardly  saw 
how  they  could  injure  Horace.  The  affair  had  done 
Steve  a  great  deal  of  good.  It  had  roused  him  from 
his  indolence ;  and  the  wish  to  retrieve  his  character 
with  Mr.  Marsh  had  induced  greater  faithfulness  in 
his  studies.  This  brought  with  it  its  own  reward ; 
and  his  lessons,  hitherto  a  task,  became  a  pleasure  ; 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN  OF   1861.  101 

and  he  was  now,  what  he  had  always  been  capable  of 
being,  one  of  the  best  scholars  in  the  school.  So 
the  slight  circumstance  of  his  taking  the  part  of 
Horace  against  the  other  boys,  had  results  for  him 
which  affected  his  whole  future  course  in  life. 

But  to  return  to  our  home  soldier.  His  case  was 
like  that  of  many  an  older  and  more  experienced 
one.  A  great  victory  had  made  him  self-confident, 
and  careless  of  more  insignificant  enemies.  These 
were  more  numerous  than  he  was  aware  of.  Be- 
cause they  did  not  come  to  him  roaring  and  raging, 
and  compelling  him  to  do  battle,  or  yield  at  once,  as 
in  his  former  experience,  he  slackened  in  his  watch- 
fulness, and  neglected  to  keep  his  pickets  well  posted. 
He  did  not  recall  the  stirring  counsel  of  the  hymn, — 

**  Awake,  my  soul !  lift  up  thine  eyes, 
See  where  thy  foes  against  thee  rise,  — 
In  long  array,  a  numerous  host,  — 
Awake,  my  soul !  or  thou  art  lost !  " 

Neither  did  he  remember  that,  — 

"  The  meanest  foe  of  all  the  train 
Has  thousands  and  ten  thousands  slain." 

No ;  he  wrote  to  Thornton,  in  a  most  self-congratu- 
latory manner,  that  one  good  fight  was  the  best 
thing  in  the  world  for  a  fellow,  and  added,  *'I'm 
afraid  I  sha  n't  be  able  to  keep  up  with  you  in  gal- 
lant exploits,  for  one  bout  with  the  enemy  has  beaten 
him." 

9* 


102  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN    OF    1861. 

And  all  this  time  Horace  was  losing  ground  in 
scholarship  and  in  strict   principle  ! 

Naturally  a  bright  boy,  he  could  easily  maintain 
a  good  rank  in  school  with  ordinary  attention  to  his 
studies ;  but  he  was  so  fond  of  play  and  out  of  door 
exercise,  that  he  was  very  apt  to  neglect  study  out 
♦  of  school,  for  amusement.  Faithful  scholarship  re- 
quired that  the  boys  should  give  some  of  their  time 
at  home  to  their  lessons,  although  there  was  still 
abundance  left  for  recreation.  Of  course,  he  be- 
longed to  a  military  company,  the  Highland  Zou- 
aves by  name,  for  all  boys  from  six  years  upwards 
took  the  military  fever.  Some  took  it  so  severely 
that  playing  soldier  ended  in  real  soldiership,  a  little 
later ;  others  took  it  so  lightly  that  it  ended  with  the 
gloss  of  their  new  uniforms,  and  if  not  in  literal,  at 
least  metaphorical  smoke. 

But  Horace,  of  course,  with  his  military  aspira- 
tions, had  the  fever  severely,  with  all  its  most  violent 
symptoms,  and  was  so  thoroughly  imbued  with  it, 
that  everything  for  a  time  was  done  en  miUtairc. 
His  school  satchel  was  slung  like  a  knapsack  upon 
.  his  back ;  Caesar  was  called  upon  to  enact  the  ene- 
my, and  receive  imaginary  charges  in  front,  and  sur- 
prises in  the  rear ;  was  humiliated  by  being  taken 
prisoner,  or  astounded  by  the  vociferous  impreca- 
tions bestowed  upon  him,  if  he  turned  tail  and  fled. 
The  family  were  gTeeted  with  military  salutes  ;  his 
mother's  nicely-cooked    viands    were    designated    as 


ECHOES    FllOM    THE    GUN   OF    18G1.  103 

salt  horse,  and  hard  tack,  and  once  or  twice  he 
made  imaginary  bayonet  charges,  with  the  carving 
knife,  at  the  sirloin,  till  peremptorily  forbidden  to 
bring  the  camp  to   the  dinner-table. 

With  this  fascination  upon  him,  of  course,  all  his 
leisure  time,  and  much  tliat  was  not  lawfully  such, 
was  spent  in  camp,  drilling,  or  in  marching,  camp- 
ing'out,  &o.  And  this  was  not  all,  nor  the  w^orst. 
He  spent  more  time  in  lounging  about,  and  talking 
over  their  last  performances,  and  planning  some- 
thing new  for  the  next,  than  in  the  real  duties  of 
camp  life  ;  and  then  his  lessons  were  —  where  ?  All 
boys  with  like  propensities  can  tell  me. 

He  belonged,  also,  to  a  boat  .club  ;  and  the  river 
side  w^as  another  favorite  resort  of  his,  where  he 
would  rock  idly  in  one  of  the  boats,  talking  with  the 
man  who  had  charge  of  them,  or  with  some  com- 
panion as  careless  as  himself,  and  as  averse  to  in- 
door pursuits. 

One  day  his  mother  remonstrated  with  him  upon 
these  habits,  and  his  evident  neglect  of  his  studies. 

**  A  boy  must  have  some  time  to  play,  mother. 
It 's  enough  to  be  cooped  up  in  school  from  nine  till 
two,  without  spending  any  more  time  studying.  My 
opinion  is,  mother,  that  the  house  was  never  intended 
for  boys  to  live  in,  —  only  to  eat  and  sleep  in." 

'*  So  it  seems  you  think,"  replied  his  mother, 
gently;  **  but,  unfortunately  for  you,  neither  your 
father  nor. I  hold  to  the  same  opinion.     A  boy  has 


104  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

duties,  as  well  as  pleasures.  I  just  came  from  Mrs. 
Harwood's.  AVhen  I  went  there,  an  hour  ago,  Steve 
was  sittmg  on  the  piazza,  studying  his  lesson.  '  Don't 
you  go  out  to-day  with  the  Zouaves,  Steve?  '  I  asked. 
*  O  yes,  ma'am,'  he  answered  ;  *  we  've  had  a  drill, 
and  a  march,  and  it  was  all  over  half  an  hour  ago.' 
I  came  home  to  find  you  just  coming  up  the  avenue. 
Play  while  you  play,  Horace,  and  work  when  you 
work ;  that's  a  good  motto  for  you." 

*  *  I  only  stopped  to  talk  over  a  plan  for  one  of  our 
marches,  with  Van." 

**  No  special  harm,  in  that,  to  be  sure,  if  you  had 
no  lessons  to  learn  at  home,  or  any  other  duty  to 
attend  to ;  although  one  great  objection  I  have  to 
these  lounging  chats  is,  that,  though  boys  may  begin 
with  their  boat  club,  the  affairs  of  their  company, 
their  last  game,  whatever  it  may  be,  they  often  end 
in  conversation,  or,  I  should  say,  talk,  less  innocent. 
Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

*'  Sometimes  I  suppose  it  is,  with  bad  boys." 

*  *  And  with  boys  not  altogether  what  you  'd  call 
bad.  When  boys  are  out  together,  I  believe  in 
action,  doing  something.  Let  them  come  home  to 
rest  and  talk,  and  bring  their  companions  with 
them." 

*'  Can't  a  boy  ever  talk  to  another  except  in  the 
house  ?  " 

"  Did  I  say  they  couldn't,  Horace?  I  am  only 
speaking  of  those  pernicious,   loitering  chats,   when 


ECHOES    FR03I   THE    GUN   OF    1861.  105 

often  boys  are  needed  at  home  for  some  duty,  or  if 
they  are  not,  they  ougbt  to  be  there.  Besides,  I 
think  some  of  your  home  pleasures  not  so  very  mucli 
restricted  to  the  house ;  for  instance,  riding  White- 
foot  to  accompany  Margaret,  walks  with  your 
mother,  work  in  your  garden,  and  exercise  in  the 
gymnasium." 

**  Well,  please  mayn't  I  go  out  and  have  a  race 
with  Ccesar  ?  Guess  I  could  n't  remember  any  more 
good  advice  now." 

**Yes,"  said  his  mother,  smiling,  "presently,  if 
you  will  listen  to  one  more  suggestion.  The  time 
spent  in  loitering  might  save  rebukes,  and  dismissals 
from  the  table  for  rough  hair  and  dirty  hands,  and 
might  give  a  boy  time  to  put  away  his  possessions, 
and  hang  up  his  cap." 

<^  Please  don't  say  any  more  now,  — I'm  off!  " 

You  may  be  very  sure  the  boys  who  were  anxious 
to  cause  Horace's  disgrace,  took  advantage  of  this 
failing.  There  was  always  some  pretext  or  other  for 
delay  after  the  others  had  gone  home  from  drill,  or 
boating ;  and  if  once  they  had  detained  Horace,  he 
was  safe  in  their  hands  for  a  definite  or  indefinite 
space  of  time,  as  the  case  mio-ht  be,  according  to 
their  wishes. 

The  reward  of  all  this  negligence  was  the,  to 
Horace,  astounding  address  of  Mr.  Marsh  to  him, 
one  day :  — 

*'  Horace  Grey,  are  you  aware  how  your  report 
stands?" 


106  ECHOES   FKOM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

The  severe  tone  in  which  this  question  was  asked, 
startled  Horace,  and  he  answered,  meekly,  — 

**  No,  sir." 

*'  I  am,  unfortunately  for  you.  You  have  a  low- 
er average  than  any  boy  in  school,  with,  perhaps, 
two  exceptions.  This,  for  a  boy  of  good  abilities, 
good  healthy  and  good  home  influence,  is  unpardon- 
able. Your  carelessness  and  neglect  have  been  so 
apparent  to  the  whole  school,  that  I  have  no  hesita- 
tion in  thus  publicly  reprimanding  you.  See  to  it 
that  your  course  is  changed.  The  term  is  nearly 
half  over,  but  you  can  still  retrieve  your  character, 
if  you  will.  All  that  you  need  is  a  little  less  time 
spent  in  play  and  idling,  and  a  little  more  devoted 
to  study. 

''  And  now,  boys,"  Mr.  Marsh  continued,  '*  I 
have  a  proposal  of  general  interest  to  make.  You 
have  most  of  you  made  gocd  progress  in  drawing 
and  writing.  I  propose  that  you  should  outline  a 
map  of  the  United  States,  filling  up  with  accuracy 
and  marking  special  war  localities,  the  District  of 
Columbia,  Maryland,  and  Virginia.  The  design,  as 
you  doubtless  understand,  is  to  fix  in  your  minds 
interesting  facts  and  situations^relating  to  the  war. 
I  shall  wish  you,  at  some  future  time,  to  go  on  and 
fi^l  up  the  remainder  of  the  map*.  You  cannot  do 
this  without  work,  nor  without  making  some  sacrifice 
of  your  amusements ;  but  if  you  manage  with  sys- 
tem, I  believe  it  will  not  be  an  alarming  one.     To 


ECHOES    FROM   THE    GUN    OF    18G1.  107 

the  one  who,  in  the  opinion  of  six  impartial  judges, 
succeeds  the  best,  I  will  with  pleasure  give  —  my 
cordial  api)robation  and  —  a  copy  of  Irving's  Life  of 
Washington.  Those  of  you  who  approve  my  pro- 
posal will  signify  it  by  saying  *  Ay.*" 

A  deafening  shout  of  ayes  rang  through  the  school- 
room. 

*'  Those  who  disapprove,  —  and  by  disapproval  I 
mean  indifference,  as  well  as  decided  objection,  — 
will  signify  it  by  saying  *  Xo.' " 

A  fixlnt  no  was  heard  from  one  of  the  idlers  of  the 
school,  —  one,  moreover,  who  never  seemed  able  to 
draw  a  straight  line.  At  this  sound,  the  other  boys 
laughed. 

jNIr.  ^larsh  looked  reprovingly  at  them,  and  said  : 

**  Bravely  done,  George  Lee  !  You  have  been 
honest,  as  well  as  brave,  and  I  count  those  two  great 
virtues.  Many  boys,  perhaps  some  among  those 
who  have  just  laughed  at  your  moral  courage,  would 
have  joined  the  majority,  conscious  all  the  while  they 
had  neither  the  wish  nor  the  ability  to  do  as  I  desire. 
Again  I  say,  bravely  done,  and  I  honor  you  for  it." 

**  Now's  your  time,  Horace,"  said  Steve.  *'  You 
draw  better  than  most  of  us,  and  you'll  be  sure  to 
succeed  rf  you  will  only  be  careful." 

"Xow's  our  time  "  said  Van  to  Hal.  *'We'll 
start  something  that  '11  keep  him  from  having  much 
time  to  draw." 

' '  I  don't  know  as  those  dodges  '11  work  any  longer. 


108  ECHOES   FROM  THE   GUN  OF   1861. 

If  old  Marsh  had  n't  spoken  out  just  yet  to  him,  we 
could  have  manacled  it  all  rii^ht." 

"Pooh!  I'll  risk  it  yet.  If  he  gets  the  prize, 
I  '11  let  him  alone  in  future,  as  too  sharp  for  us. 
But  get  the  prize  he  never  shall.  If  fair  means 
don't  succeed,  I'll  use  foul." 

* '  What  do  you  call  fair  means  ?  " 

'*  O,  enticing  him  away  to  play,  and  talk,  and 
that  sort  of  thing.  There's  other  means  can  be 
used.     I  've  waited  too  long  now  to  pay  off  that  old 

score,  him.     He 's  mistaken  if  he  thinks  I  Ve 

forgotten.  No,  no ;  I  never  forget,  and  I  '11  pay 
him  double  for  himself  and  Steve,  too.  I  dare  n't 
meddle  with  Steve  ;  besides,  it  was  aU  his  fault." 

Mortified  and  half-repentant,  Horace  walked  slow- 
ly home,  thinking  over  the  last  few  weeks,  and  real- 
izing fully  that  it  would  have  been  far  better  if  he 
had  listened  more  heedfully  to  his  mother's  advice. 
Like  many  boys,  pretty  good  boys,  too,  in  the 
main,  he  had  an  idea  that  a  woman  couldn't  be 
supposed  to  understand  a  boy's  needs,  and  that  even 
an  affectionate  mother  might  at  times  be  unreason- 
able in  her  requirements.  Xow  he  had  proved  the 
truth  of  her  words ;  and  gladly  would  he  have  re- 
called the  hours  worse  than  wasted,  when  he  should 
have  been  attending  to  his  studies.  He  resolved, 
however,  upon  a  different  course  in  future,  and  de- 
termined to  try  for  the  prize,  —  not  that  he  cared 
very  much  for  the  books,  but  he  knew  success  would 


ECHOES  FROM  THE   GUN  OF   1861.  109 

gratify  his  parents,  and  help  to  reinstate  hira  in  Mr. 
Marsh's  good  opinion. 

lie  stopped  to  see  Herbert  Vane,  and  told  him  of 
his  intention  to  try  and  get  the  prize  Mr.  Marsh  had 
offered.  He  couldn't  quite  make  up  his  mind  to 
tell  him  of  his  mortification  and  disgrace,  but  said  — 

*'  Marsh  was  cross  as  a  bear  to-day,  and  gave  me 
a  sitting  down  because  I  don't  pore  over  my  books 
all  the  time.  I  shall  be  glad  when  I  get  out  of 
school,  — I  hate  it." 

Herbert  saw  that  the  less  he  said  to  Horace  about 
study,  the  better,  in  his  present  mood  ;  so  he  laughed, 
and  answered  — 

**  That'll  do  very  well  for  you  to  say,  and  I  know 
how  much  it  means.  About  this  map,  if  you  '11 
bring  your  materials  here  and  draw,  I  '11  help  you 
with  my  suggestions,  and  you  will  be  quiet  in  my 
room.  Only,  Horace,  I  would  fix  upon  some  time 
to  come  every  day,  and  always  come  at  that  hour, 
unless  something  very  important  prevents.  If  you  '11 
persevere,  I  guess  your  chance  is  as  good  as  any 
other  boy's." 

Horace  agreed  to  tliis  plan,  and  it  was  decided  as 
drill  did  n't  commence  till  five  o'clock,  now  that  the 
days  were  so  long,  that  he  should  come  to  Herbert 
between  four  and  five. 

On  his  way  home,  he  met  Court,  who  said  to  him, 
"  Too  bad  in  old  Marsh  to  come  down  upon  you  so 
to-day.     We  're  all  agreed  that  'twas  real  shabby  in 

10 


110  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    18G1. 

him,  just  for  a  few  mistakes.  He's  partial,  too. 
Steve 's  the  favorite,  and  nobody  else  has  a  chance 
for  his  favor.     I  hate  partiality." 

**0,  I  don't  think  he's  partial,"  said  Horace, 
thoughtfully  ;  ''  at  least,  I  never  did  think  so  ;  I  dare 
say  I  deserved  all  he  said." 

'*  Well,  if  you'll  think  a  little  more  about  it, 
you  '11  see  he  is.  Every  boy  in  school  thinks  so  but 
you,  and  we  fellows  are  real  mad  at  him  on  your 
account.  You  did  us  a  deal  of  good  that  time  you 
kept  us  out  of  that  scrape  you  know,  and  we  don't 
forget  it.  1  hope  you  don't  owe  us  any  grudge,  do 
you  ?  You  see  we  were  so  mad  we  did  n't  know 
what  we  were  doing." 

*' Grudge,  no  indeed,"  said  Horace,  looking  sur- 
prised, for  this  was  the  first  allusion  that  had  ever  been 
made  to  the  affair.     '<  How  could  you  think  I  did." 

*'  Oh,  nothing  in  particular,  only  you  seem  shy 
of  us,  and  some  boys  are  so  spiteful  they  never  for- 
get anything.  I  'm  right  glad  you  're  all  right 
though,  and  Van  means  to  show  his  good  will,  by 
not  trying  for  the  prize.  He  's  sure  to  succeed  if  he 
did,  he 's  such  a  master  hand  at  drawing." 

«*  He's  very  kind,  but  I  think  each  boy  better  do 
the  best  he  can." 

* '  Oh,  he  '11  do  well  enough,  but  then  he  won't  make 
any  great  effort.  He  says  he  owes  you  a  good  turn, 
and  if  you  succeed  in  this,  it'll  set  you  all  right  with 
old  Marsh."  - 

For  nearly   a  week  after  this,  Horace  persevered 


ECHOES   FKOM   THE    GUN    OF    1861.  Ill 

not  onlv  in  attendins:  to  his  lessons,  but  in  croIn'T 
regularly  to  draw  at  Mr.  Vane's,  and  neither  Hal, 
Van,  nor  Court,  tried  to  delay  him,  but  on  the  con- 
trary sometimes  gave  him  a  friendly  reminder  that 
it  was  time  for  him  to  be  going  home  when  he  seemed 
inclined  to  linger  after  drill  or  boating.  At  the  ex- 
piration of  that  time  however,  they  changed  their 
tiictics,  as  will  be  seen. 

**  What  time  do  you  go  to  draw  Hor,"  asked  Hal, 
as  the  boys  were  going  home  from  school. 

**  About  four  o'clock." 

*'  AVell,  Yan  wants  to  consult  with  you  about  a 
plan  he  has  for  capturing  Fort  Dunbar.  He  means 
to  scale  the  walls  and  plant  the  Union  Flag  on  the 
highest  battlement.  He  don't  want  to  tell  any  of 
the  boys  but  you,  till  the  day  comes,  for  fear  they  '11 
let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag,  and  the  enemy '11  be 
prepared  for  us.  He  says  he  wants  your  advice, 
you  're  so  daring  and  spunky.  Meet  us  at  the 
water's  edge  just  below  Fort  Dunbar,  about  half  past 
three.  That'll  not  interfere  with  your  drawing. 
AVillyou?" 

*'  That 's  a  jolly  plan  ;  meet  you  to  be  sure  I  will ; 
it's  only  going  without  my  dessert,  and  that's  noth- 
ing. I  've  been  hoping  we  should  have  some  sport, 
and  not  do  all  our  fighting  in  such  a  tame  way." 

**  Well,  be  sure  and  be  on  hand  ;  half  past  three 's 
the  time." 

Punctually  to  the  hour  Horace  was  at  the  spot 
named. 


112  ECHOES   FKOM   THE   GUN  OF   1861. 

Hal  and  Court  were  there,  but  not  Van. 

'*  Hallo,  boys,"  shouted  Horace,  '*  where 's  the 
Captain  ?  " 

**  As  bad  luck  would  have  it  his  father  had  com- 
pany to  dine,  and  Van  said  he  would  n't  let  him  off 
before  dessert,  and  of  course  dinner  would  be  a  little 
later  than  usual.  But  he  '11  be  here  before  five,  and 
we  shall  only  have  to  hurry  up  our  talk,  answered 
Hal. 

Four  o'clock  came  though,  and  no  Van,  and  Hor- 
ace had  just  decided  to  go  back,  when  he  came  hur- 
rying towards  them. 

*'It's  too  bad,  Horace,  but  I  couldn't  help  it. 
Here 's  a  little  pen-and-ink  sketch  I  've  made  of  the 
fort,  and  my  plan.     See  what  you  think  of  it." 

Horace  took  the  sketch  and  expressed  his  appro- 
bation, making,  however  a  suggestion  or  two,  to 
which  Yan  assented  cordially,  and  which  Hal  op- 
posed vehemently,  and  Court  timidly. 

* '  I  shall  follow  Horace's  advice  ;  he 's  an  eye  to 
see  things  right,  boys  ;  so  you  needn't  take  offence." 

*'  Of  course  not,"  said  Hal;.*'  only  I  tliink  you 
are  making  a  mistake." 

He  then  proceeded  to  urge  his  objections  still  more 
decidedly,  and  time  passed  rapidly,  till  Yan  pulled 
out  his  watch  and  exclaimed,  — 

"Bless  me,  it's  quarter  to  five,  and  there's 
barely  time  to  get  ready  to  drill.  It  don't  matter 
for  U3,  but  you  wanted  to  go  to  Mr.  Yane's,  did  n*t 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    18G1.  113 

you,  Horace?     By  the  way,  how  do  you  get  along 
with  the  map?" 

**  Finely.  I  've  made  a  good  beginning  ;  the  out- 
line is  nearly  done." 

**  Oh,  well,  then  an  afternoon's  work  lost  don't 
signify.  *  Well  begun,  is  half  done,'  you  know. 
Let  me  see  your  map  when  you  've  finished  the  out- 
line, will  you?  I  shan't  copy  it,"  he  added,  with 
a  laugh,  as  Horace  hesitated.  **  I  only  want  to  see 
bow  it 's  done ;  and  we  're  allowed  to  make  sugges- 
tions to  each  other,  you  know.  You're  not  too 
proud  to  be  advised,  are  you?" 

**  No,  —  O  no,"  said  Horace  ;  **  only,  —  perhaps, 
—  I  thought  -—  " 

'' O,  never  mind  your  reasons;  it's  no  conse- 
quence at  all : ''  and  Van  put  away  his  sketch,  took 
up  his  cap,  and  with  a  pleasant  nod  hurried  off. 

**He's  a  trump,"  said  Hal.  **  Most  any  boy 
would  have  been  mad  to  have  had  such  an  offer 
treated  so  coldly." 

.Horace  thought  he  was  a  trump,  too,  and  deter- 
mined he  would  bring  him  his  map.  ''  'T  would  be 
real  mean  not  to,"  he  thought;  **  and  I  despise 
mean  things." 

Fort  Dunbar  was  a  precipitous  rock,  rising  some 
thirty  or  forty  feet  from  the  river  side,  almost  per- 
pendicularly for  about  twenty-five  feet,  then  grad- 
ually shelving  backwards,  and  terminating  in  a  thick 
wood.  On  the  shelving  part  grew  a  few  shrubs  and 
10* 


114  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

stunted  trees,  and  there  were  also  rough  projections 
of  rock.  Boys  had  scaled  it  in  the  spirit  of  adven- 
ture, but -it  was  considered  a  daring  feat. 

The  Highland  Zouaves  had  early  in  their  campaign 
called  it  Fort  Dunbar,  had  pretended  to  regard  it 
as  inaccessible,  and  had  talked  a  great  deal  about 
the  enemy  entrenched  in  his  fortress,  and  discussed 
plans  for  bringing  him  down  to  the  river  side.  They 
had  been  so  earnest  in  the  matter,  that  one  little  boy, 
the  youngest  of  the  company,  really  believed  an 
enemy  was  there,  and  inquired  if  he  wore  the  grey 
uniform  of  the  Rebels. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    SPIDER   AND   THE    FLY. 

*«  Hallo,  Court,  what 's  this?"  ''  Boys  are  for- 
bidden to  trespass  on  these  grounds,"  said  Horace  to 
Court  one  day,  as  they  were  passing  near  a  thick 
wood,  and  the  above  notice  in  staring  capital  letters 
greeted  their  eyes. 

'  *  It  seems  pretty  plain  to  me  what  it  is  ;  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  old  Skin  Flint's  notice.  That 's 
old  Thacher,  you  knew ;  whoever  heard  of  a  man's 
forbidding  boys  to  go  through  a  wood  before  ?  " 

"  Van  and  Hal  went  through  t'other  night,  just  to 
spite  the  old  fellow,  who  was  spying  about.  They  've 
got  dogs  there  now,  and  it  is  n't  quite  such  fun  to  risk 
them.  But  Van  vows  he  '11  play  him  a  trick  yet. 
You  know  he  means  — " 

'*  What,"  said  Horace,  *'  means  what?" 

**  Oh,  nothing ;  I  was  only  going  to  tell  about  the 
old  man,  how  cross  he  is ;  and  how  he  won't  have 
anything  to  do  with  the  neighbors,  and  how  surly  he 
is  to  Van's  father.     The  estates  join,  you  know." 

*'  Yes,  I  know.     I  heard  father  talking  about  him 


116  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    1861. 

the  other  day ;  and  though  he  said  he  should  n't  do 
such  a  thing,  yet  a  man  had  a  perfect  right  to  shut 
up  his  woods  if  he  pleased.  He  told  me  on  no  ac- 
count to  go  near  them ;  so  now  I  can't  join  in  any 
trick,  and  I  'm  real  sorry,  for  I  should  like  to  right 
well.  I  hate  mean,  small  people ;  and  if  it  is  n't 
mean  to  shut  up  a  wood  like  a  private  park,  I  should 
like  to  know  what  is." 

*' What  will  Van  do?" 

<<  Oh,  I  don't  know ;  not  much  I  guess." 

* '  By  the  way,  I  was  just  going  after  him.  Do  you 
know  if  he 's  at  home  ?  " 

''  Yes,  he  just  went  up  the  avenue  as  I  came  along. 
Step  quick  and 'you '11  find  him.  Special  business, 
eh?" 

**  No,  nothing  very  special,"  said  Horace,  looking 
confused.  A  few  moments  later,  and  he  found  Van 
upon  his  father's  piazza,  and  taking  out  his  map,  said, 
**  I  brought  you  this  to  look  at.  I  don't  know  what 
made  me  so  surly  the  othfer  day." 

'*  Oh,  never  mind,  't  was  natural  enough."  So  say- 
ing, Van  took  the  map,  examined  it  carefully,  praised 
the  execution,  made  one  or  two  trifling  suggestions, 
and  added,  *'  I  've  got  a  splendid  map  of  the  seat  of 
war,  and  you  shall  see  it  when  you  come  to  fill  yours 
up  ;  but  don't  tell  any  of  the  other  fellows.  I  don't ' 
care  to  help  them,  or  give  them  my  chance." 

*'  But  I  don't  want  you  to  give  up  trying,  for  me  ; 
it  is  n  't  right. 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    18G1.  117 

.  **Pooh,  what  do  I  care  for  old  Marsh's  opinion, 
or  the  book  either  ?  " 

*♦  I  don't  care  for  the  books." 

**  Just  so,  of  course  you  don't ;  but  naturally  you 
want  to  show  Marsh  that  you  can  be  careful  and  per- 
severing. I  should  I  know,  out  of  spite,  to  prove 
he  was  mistaken,  if  nothing  more.  Come  in  a  min- 
ute and  look  at  my  map  before  you  go.  I  '11  tell  you 
in  confidence  that  I  mean  to  take  the  company  up 
Brice  Hill  some  day  on  a  march.  They  're  a  lazy  set, 
the  most  part  of  them,  and  I'll  give  'em  a  tramp. 
We  '11  go  before  and  reconnoitre  some  day,  and  pick 
out  the  worst  path  we  can  find.  I  guess  they  '11  think 
the  enemy's  upon  them  in  earnest  before  they  get 
home  again.     Let's  go  to-morrow,  will  you?" 

**What  time?" 

**  Before  drill.  It's  only  one  afternoon,  and 
you  're  ahead  of  all  the  boys,  so  you  've  nothing  to 
fear  about  your  map  :  here  's  the  one  I  told  you  of; 
is  n't  it  stunning  ?  " 

''That's  80,"  said  Horace,  **  splendid  and  first- 
rate,  too.  That  '11  help  me  ever  so  much  ;  it  is  larger 
and  more  complete  than  the  one  my  father  has." 

As  Horace  left  the  avenue,  he  met  Hal  cominof  in. 

*'  I  say  Van's  a  real  trump,  is  n't  he?"  was  his 
greeting  to  Hal. 

**  To  be  sure  ;  he 's  worth  two  of  plodding  Steve. 
Steve 's  well  enough ;  but  there 's  no  adventure  or 
spirit  in  him ;  none  of  your  Miss  Nancy's  for  me. 


118  ECHOES   FROM   TILE    GUN   OF    1861. 

I  tell  yon  we  boys  are  getting  jealous  of  your  favor 
with  the  Captain." 

Horace  smiled  and  passed  on  ;  and  as  the  two  chief 
conspirators  met,  they  exchanged  significant  looks, 
and  then  laughed  heartily. 

**  "What  a  guy  he  Is,"  said  Van,  contemptuously. 

"  Yes,  for  a  bold,  brave  boy  as  he  Is,  and  no  mis-, 
take,  he  certainly  Is  the  most  easily  duped  of  any 
chap  I  ever  saw,"  replied  Hal.  **  He  really  believes 
you  are  as  much  Interested  for  him  as  you  pretend. 
He  just  told  me  you  were  a  trump." 

'<  I  am  Interested  for  him,  as  he  shall  see  to  his 
cost.  No  boy  ever  crosses  me  without  paying  for  It. 
I  've  got  him  now  in  my  net  as  safe  as  the  spider  had 
the  fly." 

<*  You  better  caution  Court  a  little,  or  he'll  betray 
some  of  your  schemes ;  and  If  you  once  rouse  Hor's 
suspicions,  It  won't  be  over  easy  to  manage  him. 
Court  told  me  just  now  that  he  almost  let  on  to  Hor 
about  old  Thacher.  That  he  just  began  to  tell  him 
about  Fort  Dunbar's  being  upon  liis  grounds,  and 
your  plan  of  putting  the  flag  there,  and  how  mad  the 
old  man  would  be,. because  he  Is  suspected  of  favoring 
the  South,  when  he  remembered  In  time,  and  turned 
off  the  talk." 

'*  Court's  a  fool,"  said  Van,  Impatiently;  <«  but 
I  've  got  Horace  one  way  If  not  another.  I  can 
show  a  map  so  like  his  that  he  can 't  tell  the  differ- 
ence, —  the  same  paper  and  all ;  and  then  If  he  does 


ECHOES    FROM   THE   GUN   OF    18G1.  119 

finish  his  own,  and  do  it  well,  it  '11  be  very  easy  to 
put  in  a  few  last  strokes  that  '11  spoil  it  all." 

"  But  Ills  private  mark  ?  " 

*'  I  know  what  that  is :  *  Fortune  favors  the 
brave ; ' "  and  Van  drew  from  his  pocket  a  paper 
upon  which  was  drawn  many  times  over  a  miniature 
shield,  inscribed  with  the  motto,  "  Totis  viribus,"  in 
tiny  letters.  Underneath  was  written  H.  G.,  his 
mark.  The  latter,  of  course,  was  not  designed  to  be 
upon  the  finished  map. 

"Now,  wasn't  it  good  luck  for  him  to  drop  that 
one  day,  just  before  dress  parade,  and  for  me  to  pick 
it  up  *  unknownst '  to  Hor,  and  then  when  he  asked 
me  if  I  'd  seen  it,  was  n't  I  so  anxious  to  help  him 
find  it.  I  asked  him  if  it  was  very  important  to 
him,  the  paper,  you  know,  and  he  said  no  :  yes,  in 
one  sense  it  was ;  it  was  his  private  mark  for  his 
map,  and  he  had  made  a  good  one  after  much  labor, 
and  he  wanted  it  for  a  copy.  I  told  him  I  thought 
it  likely  if  he  lost  it  when  we  were  on  dress  parade,* 
it  had  blown  into  the  river,  as  the  wind  was  in  that 
direction^  He  seemed  quite  relieved  at  that  idea,  as 
he  said  he  didn't  want  to  get  up  another,  and  he 
wanted  to  feel  sure  no  one  would  take  that  from  him. 
He  thought  he  had  made  it  over  so  many  times  that 
he  could  easily  draw  another  like  it  without  a  copy ; 
that  the  conceit  pleased  him,  and  he  was  just  going 
to  tell  me  what  it  was  when  I  virtuously  stopped  him. 

**  I  forget,"  said  he  ;   "  but  I  should  n't  be  afraid 


120  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF   1861. 

to  trust  you."  *«  I  dare  say  not,"  I  replied  ;  **  but 
I  don't  want  you  to  tell  me.  Don't  you  see  that  it 
might  be  a  very  unpleasant  thing  for  me  to  know 
anything  about  it  ?  " 

*  *  He  thanked  me  for  my  thoughtfulness  ;  and  as  I 
was  passing  his  desk  the  other  day,  I  saw  him  at 
work' on  the  same  device." 

**  *  With  all  his  might '  won't  save  him  from  me." 

*  *  But  I  don't  see  how  you  can  get  possession  of 
his  map  if  he  succeeds  in  it  ?  " 

**  Well,  I  don't  know  as  you  need  to  see,"  replied 
Van,  petulantly.  *'  I  shall,  some  way  ;  so  don't  you 
worry." 

I  am  sorry  to  give  so  much  space  in  my  story  to 
the  plottings  of  bad  boys  ;  but  I  wish  you  to  see  to 
wljat  mean,  wicked  devices  a  vindictive  disposition 
indulged  in  will  lead.  Van  and  Hal  were  so  blinded 
by  their  revengeful  feelings  that  they  did  n't  give  a 
thought  to  the  means  employed  in  attaining  their 
ends. 

As  for  Horace,  do  you,  too,  think  he  was  a 
**  guy"  to  be  so  easily  deceived,  to  be  made  to  be- 
lieve that  boys,  who  a  few  weeks  ago  had  vowed 
revenge  upon  him,  would  now  be  such  kind  and  dis- 
interested friends? 

If  he  had  been  mean  and  revengeful  in  his  dispo- 
sition, he  would  have  suspected  the  same  traits  in 
others ;  as  it  was,  he  judged  them  by  what  would 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF   1861.  121 

have  been  his  own  feelings  under  the  same  circum- 
stances. After  his  passion  was  over,  he  would  have 
been  heartily  ashamed  of  himself,  and  would  have 
done  all  in  his  power  to  atone  for  his  fault. 

Herbert  Yane  did  not  call  him  a  guy,  because  he 
was  not  in  the  habit  of  expressing  himself  in  such 
language ;  but  he  did  fear  that  Horace  was  being 
duped  in  some  way  by  the  boys,  and  warned  him  to 
beware  of  them,  when  Horace  described  to  him,  in 
glowing  terms,  Van  and  Hal's  kindness. 

In  answer,  Horace  said,  excitedly,  *'  Now  I  don't 
think  that 's  kind  of  you,  Herbert,  to  be  so  suspicious 
of  these  boys.  You  don't  know  them  ;  so  how  can 
you  judge?" 

**  Very  true,  Horace,  I  don't  know  them  except 
through  you,  and  I  judge  from  what  you  have  told 
me  about  them.  This  sudden  change  is  what  I  don't 
understand." 

* '  It  isn't  a  sudden  change ;  it 's  been  coming  on 
by  degrees  for  weeks,  and  I  don't  know  what  you'd 
have ;  because  a  boy's  been  wrong  and  ugly  once,  it 
don't  follow  he  's  always  to  be  so.  I  'm  sure  if  that 's 
the  way  you  judge  people,  you  better  be  done  with 
me  at  once.  I  've  done  heaps  of  ugly  things  in  my 
day." 

*'I  dare  say,  under  the  influence  of  temper.     I 
understand  that  from  my  own  feelings.     I  hope  I'm 
wrong  about  these  boys  ;  but  it  will  do  you  no  harm 
to  be  cautious." 
11 


122  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

« *  I  can't  keep  thinking  a  boy  means  mischief  when 
he  seems  so  kind  and  good.  What  does  Yan  try  and 
help  me  for,  what  does  he  (Hal  and  Court,  too,  for 
that  matter)  keep  reminding  me  if  I  am  likely  to 
delay  and  linger  when  I  ought  to  be  studying,  what 
did  he  show  me  his  map  for,  that 's  so  much  better 
than  mine  ?  Tell  me  if  you  can  ?  "  asked  Horace, 
triumphantly. 

*'I  can't  tell  you,"  replied  Herbert.  *'I  hope 
you  are  right ;  perhaps  you  are." 

Nevertheless,  he  was  not  convinced ;  for  every 
proof  Horace  gave  of  the  boys  kindness  to  him  was 
so  much  at  variance  with  his  preconceived  idea  of 
their  characters,  that  he  was  more  and  more  persuaded 
that  they  had  some  motive  of  their  own  for  their 
course. 

**  Oh,"  said  Herbert,  with  flushed  face  and  flashing 
eyes,  as  he  sat  thinking  the  matter  over  after  Horace 
had  gone,  "why  am  I  not  like  others?  why  am  I 
caged  and  confined  here?  I  htow  if  I  could  see 
those  boys  and  hear  them  talk,  I  could  convince 
Horace  that  they  mean  him  no  good.  Patience, 
patience  ;  that  must  be  my  motto." 

The  reconnoissance  of  Brier  Hill  had  two  results. 
A  pretty  tough,  toilsome  march  for  the  Highland 
Zouaves,  who  thought  if  that  was  play  marching, 
real  marchino^  must  be  touo-h  work  indeed,  and  a 
firmer  conviction  on  the  part  of  Horace  than  ever 
before  that  Van  was  a  *'  trump." 


ECHOES    FKOM    THE    GUX    OF    18G1.  123 

Van  knew  just  how  far  it  was  safe  to  flatter  Hor- 
ace ;  and  by  a  judicious  use  of  praise,  and  a  defer**, 
ence  to  his  opinion,  he  established  his  power  too 
effectually  for  Herbert  to  weaken  it.  The  plan  of 
the  siege  of  Fort  Dunbar  was  again  discussed  ;  and 
it  was  agreed  that  it  should  take  place  the  next  week, 
that  there  mi<jht  still  be  a  fortnis^ht  left  before  the 
close  of  the  term. 

**  I  shall  finish  my  map  first,  though,"  said  Horace 
to  Van.  *'  I  mean  to  have  it  all  done  before  the 
siege.  There 's  no  knowing  what  may  happen  ;  and 
if  I  meet  with  any  of  the  casualties  of  war,  I  want 
to  have  the  comfort  of  knowing  my  map  's  all  right." 

**  So  I  would.  I'd  make  sure  of  not  being  lec- 
tured another  time,"  replied  Van,  cordially. 

What  high  spirits  Horace  was  in  now  !  He  was 
doing  better  at  school.  The  most  fastidious  critic 
CQuld  find  no  fault  with  the  execution  of  his  map  thus 
far.  He  was  having  jolly  good  times  in  camp,  and 
no  danger  seemed  to  menace  him  from  any  quarter." 
Was  his  picket  guard  kept  well  posted  ?  We  shall 
see. 


CHAPTER  Xm. 
Thornton's  adventure,  and  lee's  romance. 

March,  '62.  I  hare  had  the  pleasure  of  being 
taken  prisoner,  —  a  pleasure  not  a  little  enhanced  by 
my  escape  from  durance  vile  (literally  so  you  w411 
think  it)  in  less  than  twelve  hours  after  my  capture. 

Our  army,  though  not  of  late  engaged  in  active 
operations,  has  yet  seen  a  good  deal  of  skirmishing 
with  the  enemy.  Some  of  our  supply  stores  are 
kept  in  inconveniently  convenient  location  for  raids, 
and  that  part  of  our  camp  has  to  be  well  watched, 
and  strong  picket  guards  are  constantly  posted.  It 
was  my  luck  to  be  on  picket  duty  in  a  recent  attempt 
of  the  enemy  to  carry  off  our  stores. 

To  be  of  any  service  when  on  picket  duty,  you 
must  necessarily  be  in  an  exposed  situation,  and  the 
chances  of  being  shot  down  unawares  by  an  unseen 
enemy,  is  not  a  pleasant  subject  for  reflection.  I 
must  confess  to  what  I  suppose  is  a  nervous  feeling 
at  such  times.  From  our  ignorance  of  the  country 
and  the  most  available  points  of  attack,  the  enemy 
has  a  decided  advantage  over  us,  as  they  not  only 
attack  us  from  unexpected  quarters,  but  in  case  of 
a  repulse  know  the  best  places  to  skedaddle  to. 


ECHOES   FliOM   THE    GUN   OF    18G1.  125 

"Well,  as  I  was  about  to  tell  you,  one  starlight 
night  as  I  was  doing  duty  on  picket,  a  ball  whizzed 
in  most  unpleasant  nearness  to  my  head,  lodging  in 
fact  in  a  tree  just  above  it.  In  another  moment  the 
alarm  was  given,  and  falling  back  to  rejoin  our  com- 
pany, we  found  ourselves  surrounded  by  quite  a  body 
of  the  enemy.  We  fought  like  tigers,  but  they  far 
outnumbered  us,  and  before  aid  could  reach  us  sev- 
eral of  our  boys,  including  Holdfast  and- myself, 
were  taken  prisoners,  and  as  many  of  the  supplies 
were  seized  as  could  be  carried  off.  After  a  few 
miles  the  Rebels  found  us  something  of  an  incum- 
brance, and  left  us  with  a  strong  guard  near  a  rude 
cabin,  with  orders  to  rejoin  them  in  the  morning.  I 
was  privileged  to  have  a  bed  on  the  hard  floor  of  the 
cabin,  while  the  others  threw  themselves  on  the 
ground  outside,  making  the  best  of  their  fate.  I  was 
at  a  loss  to  know  why  I  was  so  favored  as  to  be 
allowed  to  come  into  the  cabin,  and  also  to  have  an 
extra  guard  over  me  in  the  person  of  a  stout  negro. 
The  mystery  was  explained  later.  I  know  not  why 
it  was,  for  it  was  too  dark  to  see  the  man's  face,  but 
I  had  an  intuitive  feeling  that  he  was  friendly  to  me, 
and  to  attract  his  attention  I  began  to  moan. 

He  stooped  over  me  and  said,  '*  What's  the  mat- 
ter, massa  ?  " 

**0h!  my  arm,  —  it's  wounded;  can't  you  bind 
it  up  with  my  handkerchief?" 

*'  I'se  try,  Massa ;  do  bes'  I  can." 
11* 


126  ECHOES    FROM    THE    GUN    OF    1861. 

While  tying  up  my  bleeding  arm  (it  was  nothmg 
but  a  slight  flesh  wound),  he  whispered  to  me, 
'*  Yous  'long  to  Company  C,  l^ew  York  Reg- 
iment ?  " 

**  Yes,  my  friend,  I  do,  and  I  should  be  glad  to 
be  back  with  them  now." 

**  Hush,  hush!  Yous  knows  one  Massa  Lee 
somebody,  I  done  forgot  his  name,  after  all  Miss 
Em'lysaid?" 

**  Yes;  what  of  him?" 

**  Ise  got  letter  for  him  from  young  misses.  You 
take  him  letter  safe  to  Massa  Lee,  an'  I  gib  you  free 
if  I  can." 

' '  But  how  '11  you  manage  it  ?  I  fancy  the  guards 
outside  have  no  desire  to  '  gib  me  free.' " 

**  In  course  not.  Dey  hate  Massa  Linkem's  men. 
I  don't,  an'  I  want  to  please  Miss  Em'ly,  too.  Don' 
you  stir  till  I  gib  de  word.  But  when  I  knocks  over 
one  man,  and  scream  out  he  running  away,  den  you 
run  for  de  woods.  If  yous  can't  get  dere,  jis  you 
jump  into  de  pigsty  back  of  dis  cabin,  stoop  down 
feel  board,  take  hold  strap,  pull  up,  jump  in,  shut 
down,  and  stay  dere  till  I  done  come.  Un'stan' 
datar'?" 

**Yes,  I  understand.  I  shall  try  hard  for  the 
woods ;  the  prospect  of  a  leap  into  a  pigsty  is  n't 
alhu'ino^." 

"  Better  dan  de  prisons  dey  put  Massa  Linkem's 


ECHOES   FKOM   THE   GUN   OF    1861.  127 

<*  What  you  about  there,  Virgil,"  said  an  imperious 
voice,  the  owner  of  which  appeared  at  the  same  mo- 
ment at  the  door  of  the  cabin. 

*'  O  dcar,^  massa,  I'se  playing  doctor,  dat's  all. 
Dis  man's  arm  done  be  hurt  drefFul  bad,  sure.  I'se 
trying  to  help  him.     We's  told  to  lub  our  enemies." 

**.Well,  love  aw^y,  if  you  like,  so  long  as  you 
don't  let  him  escape.  He  loves  you,  I  dare  say,  like 
the  rest  of  his  canting  race,"  garnishing  his  speech 
with  oaths  which  I  will  not  soil  my  paper  with  tran- 
scribing. 

**  De  fac'  are,"  said  my  sable  friend,  after  this 
interruption  was  over,  ''  dat  ar'  my  young  massa  up 
big  house  yonder.  I's  'spicious  he  make  lub  to  Miss 
Em'ly,  an'  I's  more  dan  'spicious  she  lub  Massa  Lee 
bes'.  Now  keep  still  dere  till  you  hear  great  noise  ; 
then  be  wide  awake,  an'  clar  out  double  quick." 

The  next  act  in  this  httle  drama  was  an  astounding 
one  to  Holdfast.  He  had  scorned  to  lie  down  on 
the  ground,  and  stood  leaning  just  outside^he  cabin 
door,  apparently  half  asleep,  really  with  every  sense 
alert  for  a  chance  to  escape. 

Virgil  went  to  the  door  of  the  cabin  quietly,  ad- 
ministered a  heavy  blow  on  Holdfast's  shoulder, 
which  knocked  him  against  the  nearest  guard,  who 
fell  over,  then  screamed  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
*  *  Dere's  a  pris'ner  'scaping  ! "  and  in  various  ways 
added  so  much  to  the  tumult  and  confusion,  that 
Holdfast  improved  his  opportunity,  and  took  his  long 


128  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    18G1. 

legs  out  of  sight  shortly.  I  ran  for  the  woods,  as 
directed ;  but  my  pui'suers  were  too  quick  for  me, 
and  I  was  obliged  to  avail  myself  of  Virgil's  hiding- 
place.  I  turned,  and  passing  behind  the  log  cabin 
leaped  into  the  pigsty,  much  to  the  terror  of  the 
inhabitants  thereof,  pulled  at  the  bobbin  as  directed, 
and  the  latch  flew  up,  tumbled  in  and  over  on  to  a 
bed  of  corn-husks,  and  lay  there  convulsed  with 
laughter  at  this  new  phase  of  military  life  and  at  the 
incongruous  thoughts  that  came  rushing  to  my  mind. 
Wouldn't  my  mother,  gentle  and  loving  as  she  is, 
turn  up  her  pretty  nose  at  my  redolent  garments  ? 
What  words  of  love  and  truth  were  in  the  dainty 
missive  safe  under  the  breast  of  my  mire-stained 
jacket?  What  did  my  porcine  neighbors  think,  and 
what  was  their  language,  as  they  still  grunted  out 
their  disapproval  of  my  unceremonious  disturbance 
of  their  swinish  slumbers  ?  How  I  lauo:hed  inwardlv, 
too,  you  may  be  sure,  to  think  of  the  discomfited 
Rebs,  who  were  seeking  me  in  the  woods  back  of  the 
cabin  when  I  was  n't  *  thar.'  " 

*'  All  was  quiet"  about  the  cabin  at  last,  and  long 
I  lay  in  masterly  inactivity.  By-and-by  back  came 
some  of  my  pursuers,  and  among  them  Colonel  Dar- 
rell,  pointed  out  by  Virgil  as  '*  Miss  Em'ly's"  suitor, 
who  gave  strict  orders  to  Virgil  to  keep  close  watch 
after  me,  as  I  might  be  still  lurkino^  about. 

a  The Yankee  had  on  the  uniform  of  a  pri- 
vate, but  he  was  an  officer  in  disguise.     I'll  swear 


ECHOES   FIIOM    THE    GUN   OF    1861.  129 

the  contemptible  Northern  mudsills  don't  raise  such 
privates  as  he.  I'm  sure  of  that,"  were  his  parting 
words  to  Virgil. 

I  report  this,  Horace,  for  mother's  motherly  pride. 

Virgil  answered  his  master's  cautions  with  an  em- 
phatic *■*■  Never  you  fear,  massa;  be  sure  I  keep  one 
good  watch  after  he.  My,  how  he  run  into  de  woods  ! 
guess  dat  ar'  what  you  call  out  of  de  frying-pan  into 
de  fire,  for  I's  confiding  I  fin'  him  yet." 

A  full  half  hour  passed  after  the  last  sound  of  the , 
Colonel's  voice  had  died  away  before  Virgil  opened 
any  communication  with  me,  although  he  frequently 
passed   back    and    forth   in  the  rear  of  the   cabin, 


"  Carry  me  back  to  Ole  Virginny." 

At  last  he  took  a  long  pole  and  struck  vigorously 
against  my  hiding-place,  from  wliich  I  needed  no 
second  bidding  to  escape. 

*'  You  done  come  hurry  out  quick,  massa.  Dere's 
a  horse  in  de  woods,  an'  I  show  you  a  bridle-path. 
You  got  him  safe  ?  " 

Him  plainly  referring  to  the  letter,  I  answered, 
*'A11  right,  friend;"  adding,  with  a  laugh,  as  I 
glanced  at  my  mired  and  odorous  garments,  **  You 
choose  strange  entrances  to  your  hiding-places." 

**  Yes,  massa ;  dat  ar'  'bout  de  only  place  Massa 
George  (Massa  George  was  the  Rebel  Colonel  re- 


130  ECHOES    FROM   THE    GUN    OF    1861. 

ferred  to  above)  don  care  for  to  poke  he  long  nose 
into.  An'  arter  all,  yous  had  one  narrow  escape  dis 
time.  When  you  jumped  into  de  pigsty,  and  dey 
squealed  so,  some  ob  de  men  arter  you  looked 
in  dere  an'  said  't  was  mighty  queer  what  they  was 
gruntin'  'bout ;  an'  one  of  'em  poked  bout  a  while, 
till  I  offered  to  jump  in  an'  see  if  anybody  was  dere  ; 
an'  then  he  said  I  was  an  old  black  fool  to  fink  he 
could  n't  tell  whether  't  was  a  man  or  pigs  that  was 
dere.  Lucky  for  you,  nobody  but  I  an'  Scip  knows 
bout  dat  ar'." 

Grasping  the  hand  of  my  sable  friend  with  the 
classical  name,  I  said,  '*  Thank  you  most  heartily 
for  your  aid,  Virgil,  whatever  your  motive.'' 

"  Oh,  I  help  ebery  one  Massa  Linkem's  men  if 
dey  like  you,  such  fine-mannered,  fine-spoken  gen- 
tlemens.  (There's  another  plum  for  you,  mother 
dear.)  But  you  see,  massa,  I's  hab  to  make  b'leve 
very  much  hate  yous  all ,  else  I  could  n't  help  Miss 
Em'ly  ;  don'  you  see  ?  " 

Virgil  led  me  to  the  wood,  pointed  out  to  me  the 
bridle-path,  and  observing,  I  suppose,  rny  quizzical 
look  at  the  sorry  nag,  he  said,  "  Him  got  plenty  go 
in  liim,  massa ;  jes'  you  see." 

It  was  as  he  said,  and  I  spon  found  myself  in  my 
own  quarters  again,  much  to  the  astonishment  of  my 
friends,  who  thought  I  was  already  far  on  the  way 
to  a  Kebel  prison. 

I  sought  Lee  out  at  once,  and  though  my  heart 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN    OF    18G1.  131 

was  moved  at  the  pleasure  I  was  about  to  give  him, 
1  istill  could  not  refrain  from  a  hearty  laugh  as  I 
drew  out  the  dainty  billet-doux  from  underneath  its 
outer  mire-stained  envelope. 

Lee  fired  up  at  once,  and  went  red  in  the  face  as 
a  tuikey-cock,  and  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  familiar 
hand,  said  fiercely,  **  What  are  you  laughing  at?" 

"Forgive  me,  Lee,"  I  said.  "You'll  laugh  too 
when  you  hear  my  story.  Now  read  your  note, 
which  is,  I  hope,  the  bearer  of  good  tidings  to  you." 

**  Yes,  yes;  k  can,  it  must  be  done.  I  can  get 
leave  of  absence,  I  know  ;  and  you'll  help  me,  Thorn, 
I  know  you  will.  You  know  the  way,  too,  and 
where  to  find  Virgil,"  was  his  hurried  address  after 
reading  bis  note. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  laughing  again,  "I'll  help  you, 
wliatever  the  job  is." 

"  I  forgot,"  said  Lee,  "  that  you  don't  know  as 
much  as  I  do  about  this  affair.  Come  out  and  sit  on 
tliat  old  stump,  and  I'll  tell  you  the  story.  Emily 
Kay  was  my  early  playmate  and  friend.  I  do  not 
remember  the  time  when  we  did  not  love  each  other, 
first  with  a  tender  sort  of  brother  and  sister  affection, 
which,  as  we  grew  older,  deepened  into  a  strong,  ar- 
dent love.  The  year  before  this  Rebellion  broke  out, 
Emily  went  to  Virginia,  to  teach  in  the  family  of  a 
distant  relative.  When  the  troubles  commenced, 
she  was  anxious  to  return  North.  She,  too,  like 
myself,    is    motherless ;    but   her   relatives   persisted 


132  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    1861. 

in  detaining  her,  and  of  late  she  has  been  kept 
almost  a  prisoner.  Colonel  Darrell,  son  of  Mrs. 
Darrell,  with  whom  she  is,  is  determined  to  marry 
her.  I  unite  with  her  in  the  determination  that 
he  shall  not,  and  his  success  is  consequently  more 
than  doubtful.  I  knew  the  Darrells  lived  some- 
where in  this  neighborhood,  but  I  thought  it  was 
farther  South.  Yirgll  will  help  us,  and,  indeed, 
all  the  slaves,  for  Emily  has  made  friends  of 
them.  To-morrow  night  Darrell  -will  be  with  his 
regiment.  There's  no  one  else  to  fear,  as  all  the 
men  of  the  family  are  absent  in  the  army.  There 
are  visitors  now  at  headquarters,  who  will  see 
Emily  safe  home  when  they  return  to  the  North, 
which  will  be  in  a  day  or  two.  I  will-get  leave  of 
absence  for  us  both,  if  you  will  go  with  me." 

««  Eight  gladly  will  I  go  with  you,  Lee,  —  the 
sooner  the  better." 

I  entertained  my  conapanions  that  evening  with 
my  experience  while  a  prisoner,  much  to  their  mirth. 
Holdfast  inquired  in  his  usual  deliberate  manner  why 
in  thunder  and  lightning  they  could  n't  have  made  an 
opening  Into  the  trap,  as  he  called  it,  in  a  more 
decent  place. 

Pat  fired  up  at  this.  ''An' what  should  ye  be 
afther  wanting  a  dacenter  place  than  alongst  of  the 
pigs,  the  dear  crathurs.  Sure  an'  it's  meself  has 
found  them  better  company  nor  some  of  yer  black 
gintry  there's  such  hoorahs  about." 


ECHOES    FROM    THE    GUN    OF    1861.  133 

<*  Chacun  a  son  gout,''  I  ventured  to  say,  in  a  low 
tone  ;  and  Holdfast  shouted  out  — 

*'  Waal,  this  is  the  first  time  i  ever  heerd  of  any- 
body's taking  a  notion  to  pigs'  company.  To  my 
mind  pigs  is  pigs,  and  that's  same's  to  say  the  nas- 
tiest creturs  livin'." 

**  But  that's  neither  here  nor  there,"  said  I,  laugh- 
ing, anxious  to  avert  Pat's  wrath.  **  The*  reason 
why,'  was  given  me  by  Virgil,  —  because  it  was  the 
only  place  Colonel  Darrell  would  n't  '  be  poking  his 
Ion 2:  nose  into.'  If  made  from  the  floor  of  the  cab- 
in,  or  from  the  outside  beyond  the  pigsty,  of  course 
the  opening  would  be  discovered." 

**AVaal,  that  sounds  sensible.  A  reason's  a  rea- 
son, and  satisfies  me  a  heap  better  than  a  tarnation 
string  of  words  with  nothing  but  jabber  in  'em," 
said  Holdfast,  looking  slyly  at  Pat  as  he  spoke. 

Lee  easily  obtained  leave  of  absence  for  us  both, 
and  on  the  night  appointed  we  set  forth  gayly  to 
meet  Virgil  at  the  appointed  place  of  rendezvous, 
the  afore-mentioned  cabin.  He  was  there,  and  mak- 
ing a  motion  of  caution,  said,  — 

**  De  debil  and  all's  to  pay.  My  massa,  de  Col- 
onel, done  come  home  to-night,  an'  dere's  no  cheat- 
ing him.*" 

**  AVe  shall  see,"  said  Lee,  contemptuously. 
'<  Did  he  bring  any  of  his  company  with  him." 

**  Neber  a  one  'cept  Jake;  and  Jake'd  like  no 
12 


134  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF   18G1. 

better  fun  clan  to  see  his  massa  shot  down.     Jake 
jes'  hates  hhn." 

Lee  then  briefly  detailed  a  new  plan  of  campaign 
to  me,  which  meeting  my  cordial  approbation,  he 
took  Virgil  aside  and  gave  him  his  directions. 

'*  My  golly,  Massa  Lee,  neber  you  fear  us  ;  we 's 
all  for  you  an'  Miss  Em'ly.  Jes'  take  care  ob  de 
Colonel,  an'  we  manage  de  res'.  My,  dat  ar'll  be 
good  joke,  s'pose  you  carry  him  t'rough." 

*'  There's  no  suppose  about  it,"  replied  Lee,  loft- 
ily, <*  if  you  negroes  do  your  part.  Plenty  of  noise 
and  confusion,  and  information  the  wrong  way;  do 
you  understand  ?  " 

''Yes,  massa,  I  un'stan'  dat  ar' ;  an' I  un'stan', 
too,  I's  to  hab  de  boss  and  traps  ready  in  de  wood 
jes'  back  ob  de  house.  Now  you  un'stan'  you 's  to 
go  to  de  right  ob  de  summer-house,  not  to  de  lef?" 

**Yes.  Be  off  with  you.  We'll  come  in  half 
an  hour  ;  they  '11  be  at  supper  then." 

At  the  expiration  of  the  appointed  time  we  fol- 
lowed Viroril  to  the  old  house  which  fj-leamed  out 
through  the  trees  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant. 
There  was  just  light  enough  from  an  increasing  moon 
to  show  us  our  way  without  difficulty,  and  not  enough 
to  make  us  conspicuous  to  any  one  who  might  be  on 
the  lookout  from  the  mansion.  We  went  first  to  the 
front  door,  which  opened  on  to  the  wide  piazza,  and 
found  that  it  was  as  Virgil  had  promised  it  should 
be,  slightly  ajar ;  then  we  crept  cautiously  round  to 


ECHOES   FllOM   THE    GUN   OF    18G1.  135 

the  back  of  the  house,  and  looked  in  through  the  un- 
curtained windows  at  the  party  at  the  table.  There 
sat  Mrs.  Darrell  and  her  daughters,  and  Colonel 
Darrell,  and  beside  him  Emily  Kay.  I  knew  it  was 
she  from  the  pale  fiice  and  anxious  look,  and  from 
the  quick,  short  breaths  Lee  drew. 

**  The  scoundrel !"  he  muttered,  between  his  set 
teeth.  *'Now*s  your  time,"  he  whispered  to  me. 
'*  Make  a  rush,  and  if  he  tries  to  escape,  a  bullet 'II 
soon  settle  him.  It 's  hard  to  give  this  up  to  you," 
added  Lee,  jealously. 

**  O,  well,"  I  whispered,  '*  I'd  quite  as  lief  take 
charge  of  the  young  lady  ;  it 's  only  to  change  parts, 
and  let  the  play  go  on  all  the  same." 

**  Don't  be  a  fool!"  said  Lee,  between  his  set 
teeth.     *' Now  for  it!" 

I  stepped  lightly  forward,  threw  up  the  long  win- 
dow in  an  instant,  rushed  in,  walked  up  to  the  Col- 
onel, and  demanded  his  sword. 

**  By  what  right,  you *  Yankee?  "  he  cried, 

rising  and  confronting  me. 

a  By  right  of  might,  sir.  Will  you  go  peaceably, 
or  shallT  order  in  my  company,  which  I  left  out  of 
doors,  out  of  respect  to  the  ladies?" 

*  Keeping  my  eye  upon  him,  I  stepped  a  little 
towards    the    open   window,    and    said,   "  Corporal 

*  The  reader  will  perceive  that  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  bor- 
rowing, in  part,  the  recent  gallant  exploit  of  a  brave  Boston  boy, 
and  have,  of  course,  made  an  anachronism. 


136  ECHOES    FK(X>I    THE    GUN    OF    1861. 

Trim,  to  the  front  of  the  house,  and  guard  the  ave- 
nue. Sergeant  Cripps,  send  off  five  more  men  to 
the  rear,  and  remain  where  you  are  with  the  rest. 
If  there 's  trouble  here,  come  in  at  once. 

Brief  as  the  time  was  in  which  this  passed,  it  suf- 
ficed for  the  servants  to  get  up  a  perfect  pandemo- 
nium in  noise.  Cries  of  "  Oh,  oh,  massa,  we 's  be 
all  murdered !  Dere  's  heaps  an'  heaps  of  'em  out 
dere  !  "  "  Oh,  missus,  what  shall  we  do?  Here's 
Massa  Linkem's  whole  army  jes'  ober  de  bridge  !  " 
*'  Oh,  my  good  Lord,  dere's  Miss  Em'ly  done  gone 
faint  away  I  Here,  you,  Lize  and  Dinah,  take  her 
away  !  "  "  Oh,  dear  Lord,  is  dis  de  judgmen',  com- 
in  w^id  de  fire  and  sword  ?  "  And  sundry  like  excla- 
mations, while  the  women  and  children  shrieked,  the 
dogs  barked,  and  over  all  rose  Colonel  Dan-ell's 
stern  voice,  — 

'*  Silence,  idiots  !  To  your  huts  and  kennels,  and 
cease  this din  !  " 

Supposing  the  house  to  be  actually  surrounded,  he 
haughtily  begged  a  moment's  talk  with  his  mother. 

"  It  mflst  be  but  a  moment,  then,"  I  said,  "  my 
time  is  precious."  A  few  brief  words  in  w^hich  I 
could  distinguish  some  words  about  Emily's  being 
closely  watched,  and  the  haughty  scion  of  one  of 
Virginia's  first  families,  fell  into  the  trap  laid  for 
him,  and  was  soon  preceding  me  down  the  ave- 
nue towards  the  wood.  Of  course  I  followed  w^th 
rifle  at  full  cock  ready  for  any  emergency,  but  de- 


ECHOES    FROM    THE    GUN   OF    1861.  137 

voutly  prayinf^  such  emergency  might  not  arise ;  for 
I  felt  it  would  be  a  fiir  different  thing  shooting  a 
man  down  in  cold  blood  as  it  were,  to  firing  on  the 
battle-field,  yourself  attacked  as  well  as  attacking. 
We  had  not  proceeded  far  upon  our  solitary  march 
before  he  turned  partly  round  and  said  to  me,  '*  where 
is  your  company  ?  " 

*'Here  Sir,  at  your  service,"  I  replied.  <*I  am 
corporal,  sergeant,  and  company.     Thornton  Grey, 

private  in  company  C, New  York  regiment."    I 

don't  register  oaths  in  these  pages,  Horace,  and  I 
hope  your  knowledge  of  wicked  words  has  never 
gone  so  far  as  to  enable  you  to  conceive  the  horrid 
imprecations  that  burst  from  Darrell's  lips  when  he 
comprehended  the  trick  that  had  been  played  upon 
him  ;  and  as  yet  he  knew  not  that  he  w^as  foiled  in 
love,  as  well  as  in  war  ! 

My  blood  ran  cold  at  his  words,  and  I  almost 
feared  his  very  wickedness  would  prove  more  than  a 
match  for  my  arms  and  watchfulness.  It  was  an 
anxious  march,  and  I  must  confess  to  great  relief, 
when  I  was  met  half  w^ay  to  camp,  by  a  strong  guard, 
who  took  possession  of  my  prisoner,  and  left  me  free 
to  breathe  and  think  once  more  naturally. 

Lee,  aided  by  Vjrgil,  had  escaped  with  Emily  with- 
out much  difficulty,  though  one  or  two  of  the  slaves 
who  were  not  in  the  secret,  owing  to  some  uncertainty 
as  to  their  trustworthiness,  made  some  vigorous 
resistance  at  first  to  her  being  carried  off.     Chloe, 

12* 


138  ECHOES  FROM  THE   GUN  OF   1861. 

however,  Ylrgil's  mother,  and  a  person  of  conse- 
quence in  the  colored  estabhshment  of  Madam  Dar- 
rell,  interfered  in  time  to  prevent  any  serious  delay- 
in  the  lovers'  escape.  When  we  reached  our  tent, 
Lee  and  Emily  had  already  gone  to  headquarters,  and 
the  very  next  day  she  set  out  on  her  journey  home 
under  kind  and  safe  escort. 

As  for  Darrell,  he  was  almost  beside  himself  with 
rage  when  he  learned  that  Emily  had  escaped  his 
mother's  guardianship.  He  insisted  vehemently  upon 
being  allowed  to  confront  Lee ;  and  I  was  told  by 
Ned, — I  beg  his  pardon.  Captain  Howe,  —  who 
was  present,  that  Lee,  although  every  whit  as  en- 
rasred  as  Darrell,  bore  himself  far  more  like  a  man 
than  the  latter.  It  was  a  bitter  pill  for  a  haughty 
Rebel  to  swallow,  — to  be  outwitted  in  war  and  love 
by  a  couple  of  Yankee  mudsills ;  for  he  seemed  to 
forget  after  this  affair  the  impression  my  appearance 
had  made  upon  him  previously. 

For  the  rest,  I  must  tell  you,  because  I  know  that 
it  wiU  gratify  you,  that  I  gained  a  good  deal  of  credit 
in  my  regiment  for  my  share  in  the  capture  of  Col- 
onel Darrell.  Our  Colonel  said  —  and  his  praise  is 
not  so  freely  given  as  to  make  it  valueless  —  that  it 
was  a  brave  thing  for  one  who  was  not  only  in  mil- 
itary parlance,  but  in  actual  fact,  a  boy,  to  do,  when 
my  captive  was  a  bold,  fearless  man,  every  inch  an 
experienced  soldier. 

Boy  I  was  when  I  left  home,  but  boy  I  am  no 


ECHOES   FIIOM   THE    GUN   OF    18G1.  139 

longer.  Experiences  such  as  ours  puts  the  man  into 
the  heart,  if  there 's  ever  to  be  a  man's  spirit  in  one. 
I  have  thus  far  given  you  only  the  froth  of  my  daily 
life,  with  here  and  there  a  glimpse  of  something  more 
solid ;  but  you  will  yet  find,  I  trust,  that  under  all 
our  jollity  beat  stout,  strong  hearts. 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

HORACE   IS   TAKEN   PKISOXER. 

Horace  was  in  a  very  critical  situation  just  at 
this  time.  Not  only  was  he  exposed  to  the  machi- 
nations of  enemies  without,  but  the  very  security 
that  he  felt  that  he  was  now  safely  guarded  from 
foes  within  increased  his  danger.  There  is  a  text 
which  every  human  being  should  ponder  well  in 
their  hearts,  as  a  safeguard  against  temptation,  — 
* '  Let  him  that  thinketh  he  standeth  take  heed  lest 
he  fall." 

Horace  thou2:ht  his  footlns^  was  secure.  Since  the 
public  reproof  Mr.  Marsh  had  given  him,  his  les- 
sons, if  not  thoroughly  learned,  were  at  least  quite 
up  to  the  average  mark  of  other  boys.  Thanks  to 
Herbert's  persevering  warnings,  his  mother's  gentle 
reminders,  and  St.  John's  interested  inquiries  re- 
specting his  progress,  his  map  was  in  a  very  com- 
mendable state  of  forwardness  as  the  time  appointed 
for  the  sie2:e  of  Fort  Dunbar  drew  near. 

The  whole  map  was  neatly  outlined, — the  loyal 
States  with  a  faint  black  line,  enclosing  a  triple  row 
of  the  loval  colors ;   while  the  seceded  States  w^ere 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF   1861.  141 

heavily  outlined  with  black  only,  and  beside  their 
gay  sisters  looked  like  mourners.  Locations  already 
famous  for  battles  were  marked  by  stars,  large  and 
full  if  victories,  and  small  and  jagged  if  they  indi- 
cated defeat  or  doubtful  success.  In  one  corner  was 
the  shield  upon  which  was  the  motto  already  de- 
scribed, and  which  Horace  had  exultingly  pronounced 
to  be  done  tip-top  style,  if  it  was  his  own  work.  Just 
below  the  motto,  written  in  such  tiny  letters  that  no 
one  could  distino^uish  them  from  a  slis^ht  ink  line 
unless  told  what  they  were,  were  the  initials  II.  G. 
In  fact,  nothing  remained  to  be  done  but  to  write  out 
neatly  the  names  of  the  principal  towns,  and  mark 
the  localities  of  camps  and  hospitals,  the  former  to 
be  designated  by  a  tiny  row  of  tents,  the  latter  by  a 
miniature  tree. 

As  Horace  looked  with  gratified  pride  at  his  map 
when  it  was  in  the  state  described,  he  could  not  help 
exultantly  saying  to  Herbert,  '*  Well,  you  see,  old 
croaker,  I  'm  likely  to  succeed,  after  all.  Van  says 
there  's  no  fear  for  me  ;  I  shall  always  pull  through 
whatever  I  undertake." 

**  Perhaps  you  will,  only  there  are  different  ways 
of  pulling  through,"  said  Herbert.  *'  Perhaps  my 
croaking  has  n't  done  you  any  harm." 

*'  Don't  say  it  has  ;  in  fact,  I  dare  say  I  should  n't 
have  done  so  much  but  for  you ;  but  then  I  could  do 
double  the  work  I  have  to  do  on  it  before  the  timers 
up.  One  would  think  you  were  calculating  upon 
my  breaking  my  right  arm  at  least  in  the  siege." 


142  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF   1861. 

«'  One  can  never  calculate  what  may  happen," 
said  Herbert,  gravely.  ''  I  think  you  are  under- 
taking a  perilous  feat  and  a  dangerous  one,  from 
your  own  account,  of  the  place." 

'*  Of  course  you  think  so,"  retorted  Horace,  hast- 
ily, and  in  a  tone  that  conveyed  more  than  the 
words. 

Herbert  flushed  scarlet,  and  said,  quickly,  **  I 
know  a  poor,  deformed  boy  like  me  is  no  judge  of 
the  sports  of  active,  healthy  ones." 

'*  O  Herbert,  I  didn't  mean  that;  at  least,  I 
did  n't  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings  ;  I  did  n't  think." 

''  Never  mind  ;  you  are  very  thoughtful  generally, 
Horace,  and  it  was  foolish  in  me  to  care  for  what 
you  said  then." 

This  conversation  was  two  days  before  the  long- 
talked-of  siege  of  Fort  Dunbar. 

Van,  whQ  was  determined  Horace  should  not  finish 
his  map  previous  to  that  event,  exerted  every  means 
possible  to  detain  him  from  his  work  these  two  after- 
noons, and  he  was  successful.  **  After  all,"  said 
Horace  to  Herbert,  '*it  is  folly  to  be  so  set  about 
it.  I  don't  expect  to  lose  my  right  arm  or  break 
my  neck  in  this  feat  of  war ;  but  I  '11  tell  you  what, 
there  's  so  little  to  be  done,  I  will  take  it  to  school, 
and  finish  it  this  morning.  I  shall  have  lots  of  time. 
I  can  write  better  there  than  anywhere  else." 

*<  O,  I  wouldn't  lake  it  to  school,  Horace  ;  don't," 

**  Why  not?  what  can  happen  to  it?" 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    18G1.  143 

**  I  don't  know;  you  may  forget  it,  and  leave  it 
there." 

*'It'll  be  safe  enough  if  I  should.  Good  by; 
I'll  come  in  to-morrow,  and  tell  you  all  about  the 
siege,  and  show  you  the  map  too." 

Herbert  saw  him  go  with  many  misgivings,  al- 
though he  could  not  have  tuld  what  he  feared. 

Before  recess  Van,  passing  by  Horace's  desk,  saw 
him  with  his  map  spread  out  before  him,  and  laid  his 
plans  accordingly. 

The  moment  school  was  over,  he  hurried  up  to 
Horace,  told  him  to  come  with  him  quickly,  for  he 
had  something  of  importance  to  say.  His  eager  and 
authoritative  manner  put  everything  out  of  Horace's 
mind,  and  books,  map,  and  everything  were  left  to 
follow  Van,  and  receive  some  unimportant  directions 
about  the  ladder  to  be  used  in  their  scaling  feat  that 
afternoon. 

*'  All  right,"  said  Horace,  **  but  you  could  have 
told  me  this  just  as  well  another  time.  I  want  to 
go  back  now  to  my  desk,  and  get  my  books." 

Van  swore  roundly  he  was  a  fool  to  be  worrying 
about  his  books.  *'  Have  a  good  time  for  once  in 
your  life,  can't  you?     Come  along  with  me." 

Horace  looked  disturbed. 

**AVell,  I  shouldn't  have  sworn  if  you  hadn't 
kept  me  waiting.  Fact  is,  if  a  boy  hears  swearing 
at  home,  he  's  pretty  likely  to  rip  out  once  in  a  while 
himself.  You  've  done  me  good  in  that  way  as  well 
a^  others,"  said  Van. 


144  ECHOES   FE03I   THE   GUN   OF    1861. 

This  mollified  Horace  completely,  and  his  com- 
panion managed  to  keep  him  interested  till  there  wa3 
'  barely  time  to  run  -home  and  get  the  early  dinner 
the  boys  were  to  have  previous  to  going  to  camp. 

*<I've  carried  my  point,  though  I  don't  know 
what  special  good  it 's  to  do  me,  for,  if  I  could  get 
the  map,  it  would  be  no  use  to  deface  or  change  it 
now ;  but  fortune  '11  favor  me  yet,  maybe  some- 
thing '11  turn  up,"  said  Van  to  himself,  as  he  hurried 
home. 

As  for  Horace,  it  was  hours  before  he  thought  of 
his  map  again,  and  then  it  was  with 'a  bitter  pang 
that  he  had  not  followed  Herbert's  advice. 

The  boys  met  at  their  camping-ground,  a  beautiful 
grove  in  the  neighborhood,  at  the  appointed  hour, 
and  proceeded  to  carry  out  their  plan  for  the  siege. 
They  were  in  the  highest  spirits,  and  it  wa's  some 
time  before  they  could  get  sober  enough  to  observe 
military  decorum.  At  last  the  drum  beat,  the  roll 
was  called,  they  were  mustered  into  rank,  and  the 
order  was  given  to  shoulder  arms  and  march  single 
file  to  the  river  side,  to  take  boats  to  Fort  Dunbar, 
about  half  a  mile  above ;  for  the  expedition  was  to 
be  in  part  a  naval  one. 

The  advance  boat  was  under  the  charge  of  Horace, 
manned  by  Court  and  five  other  boys,  who  had  been 
detailed  for  the  special  duty  of  scaling  and  storming 
the  fort,  while  the  remainder  of  the  company  were  to 
make  a  demonstration  lower  down  for  the  purpose  of 


ECHOES    FH03I   THE   GUN   OF    1861.  145 

drawing  off  the  enemy's  attention.  The  enemy  was 
not  altogether  an  imaginary  one,  as  they  found  after 
a  while  to  their  cost ;  and  even  now  they  were  as- 
sailed by  showers  of  small  stones,  dirt,  and  sand, 
propelled  downwards  by  certain  small  boys  engaged" 
for  the  purpose,  who  were  hidden  behind  protecting 
shrubs  and  trees  on  the  slo[)ing  side  of  the  precipice. 
Of  course  the  Highland  Zouaves  received  this  for- 
midable repulse  with  great  bravery  and  abundant 
demonstration  of  a  noisy  nature. 

As  soon  as  the  boat  in  which  Horace  and  his  com- 
panions were  touched  the  shore,  he  leaped  out,  and 
with  the  aid  of  the  other  boys  took  the  ladder  out 
from  the  bushes  where  it  had  been  secreted,  and 
placed  it  in  proper  position  against  the  wall  of  rock 
which  rose  up  before  them.  Both  Van  and  Horace 
thought  the  ladder  was  quite  long  enough  to  reach 
up  to  the  portion  of  the  rock  which,  shelving  back, 
would  afford  a  comparatively  safe  footing.  But 
when  Horace  reached  the  last  round,  he  found  to  his 
dismay  that  too  long  a  space  still  intervened  to  make 
it  safe  to  try  and  reach  that  part  of  the  precipice. 
He  looked  about  him  in  disappointment  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  saw  a  place  in  the  rock  just  above 
him  almost  large  enough  to  hold  his  foot,  while  still 
farther  up  was  a  thick  stunted  shrub,  of  which  he 
was  sure  he  could  lay  hold  if  once  as  higli  up  as  the 
little  cleft  above  mentioned.  He  coolly  took  out  his 
knife,  opened  it,  and  found  that  he  could  easily  en- 
13 


146  ECHOES    FIJOM   THE   GUN   OF    18G1. 

large  the  hole  sufficiently  for  his  purpose.  He  did 
so,  left  the  ladder,  phiced  his  foot  in  the  cleft,  laid 
hold  of  the  shrub,  which  proved  a  sure  support,  and 
was  soon  on  the  top  of  the  rock,  waving  his  hat  to 
his  excited  companions  below.  It  was  a  perilous 
feat,  and  but  for  his  great  daring,  added  to  a  cool 
head  and  steady  nerves,  it  would  have  been  a  fatal 
one.  Even  Van  had  trembled  with  horror  when  he 
found  the  predicament  Horace  was  in,  because  he 
knew  he  would  run  every  risk  rather  than  come 
down  the  ladder  foiled  in  his  purpose.  He  did  not 
wish  to  be  the  means  of  his  death  ;  he  only  wi:^hcd 
to  disgrace  him.  -  It  had  been  no  lack  of  personal 
courage,  or  fear  of  getting  into  a  scrape,  that  had 
kept  him  from  taking  the  post  of  peril  he  had  as- 
signed to  Horace.  No,  he  had  been  actuated  by  a 
far  different  motive. 

Court  had  wavered  in  liis  design  to  follow  Horace, 
till  the  acclamations  with  which  his  feat  was  received, 
and  the  promptings  of  a  reckless  and  bold  spirit,  de- 
termined him  to  follow ;  and,  before  Van  could  in- 
terfere, lie  was  already  up  the  ladder,  had  taken  the 
dangerous  leap,  was  safe  beside  Horace,  and  was  in 
his  turn  greeted  with  loud  applause.  The  other  boys 
declined  following,  and  no  one  attempted  to  induce 
them  to  do  so. 

Captain  Van  and  his  soldiers  had  been  so  intent 
upon  watching  Horace  that  their  part  of  the  play  was 
left  unperformed,  much  to  the  disgust  of  the  afore- 


ECHOES    FROM   THE    GUN   OF    18C1.  147 

mentioned  small  boys,  who  were  to  personate  the 
enemy.  One  of  them,  in  particular,  —  a  boy  with 
a  fierv  red  head,  and  a  revengeful  face,  —  muttered 
to  himself,  '*  I  've  lost  the  chance  this  time.  My 
little  stone  would  have  been  a  big  un  for  him. 
You  '11  cotch  it  yet.  Cap  n  Van,  and  larn  not  to  med- 
dle with  me." 

The  next  proceeding  on  the  part  of  the  successful 
assailants  was  to  let  down  a  cord,  by  means  of  which 
the  flaty  was  to  be  drawn  up.  This  was  done,  and 
the  two  boys  soon  had  it  flying  from  the  topmost 
branch  of  a  tree  which  stood  on  the  very  summit  of 
the  rock.  Three  cheers  and  a  tiger  were  next  pro- 
posed by  the  company  below  for  the  brave  besiegers 
of  Fort  Dunbar,  and  then  they  all  made  the  shores 
and  rocks  resound  with  America. 

It  was  now  sunset,  and  Horace  was  just  consulting 
Court  as  to  the  best  way  of  getting  down,  by  a  path 
with  which  Court  had  said  he  was  familiar,  when  he 
was  startled  by  his  companion's  exclaiming,  **  Come 
away,  Horace,  quick,  or  you'll  be  killed!"  and  at 
the  same  instant  came  a  flash,  and  a  loud  report,  and 
Horace  fell  to  the  ground,  blinded  and  stunned. 

The  next  act  in  this  performance,  which  seemed  to 
be  ftist  turning  into  a  tragedy,  was  equally  astound- 
ing to  both  boys. 

A  rough-looking  man,  accompanied  by  two  huge 
dogs,  appeared  from  the  wood  beyond,  and,  roughly 
shakinjj:  Court,  asked  him  how  he  dared  to  be  tres- 


148  ECHOES    FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

passing  on  private  property,  raising  flags  and  the 
devil  at  the  same  time. 

Court  answered,  angrily,  that  he  wasn't  trespass- 
ing, and  that  there  had  been  no  harm  done, — the 
boy  was  only  stunned. 

The  man  swore  he  did  n't  care  what  became  of  the 
boy,  but  they  were  to  go  with  him.  Horace,  who 
was  now  somewhat  recovered  from  the  shock  of  the 
explosion,  and  the  effects  of  a  blow  on  the  temple 
from  a  piece  of  stone,  rose  to  his  feet,  and  attempted 
to  explain. 

«*  Ye  needn't  waste  yer  words  on  me.  The  no- 
tice 's  up  plain  as  day,  the  farther  end  of  these  woods, 
that  there  's  no  trespassing  allowed.  Ef  't  aint  tres- 
passing to  yell  like  devils,  string  up  flags,   and 

blow  up  rocks,  without  leave,  I  should  like  to  know 
what  Is." 

'*  I  didn't  know,"  said  Horace,  Fort  Dunbar  was 
in  Mr.  Thacher's  woods ;  and  I  don't  know  any 
more  than. yourself  about  the  rock's  blowing  up." 

**A  likely  story!  Come  along.  No;  I  guess, 
though,  as  you've  taken  a  fancy  to  call  this  here 
rock  a  fort,  I  '11  see  ef  I  can't  find  a  dungeon  for 
you.     Pity  to  spile  good  sport !  " 

*' But  I'm  hurt,  and  burned,  too,"  pleaded  Hor- 
ace.     *'  Don't  leave  us  here  to-nio;ht." 

*'  One  of  the  fortius  of  war,  I  guess,"  said  the  man, 
with  a  savage  grin.  "  Ye '11  have  to  try  and  see 
how  vou  like  it." 


ECHOES   FROM  THE   GUN  OF   1861.  149 

In  vain  Horace  begged  him  to  have  compassion  on 
his  state  ;  equally  In  vain  did  Court  swear  and  threat- 
en the  man  with  his  father's  vengeance.  He  made  no 
answer,  but  coolly  dragged  Horace  along  to  the  edge 
of  the  wood,  motioning  Court  to  follow,  and,  open- 
ing the  door  of  a  small  building,  roughly  put  the 
boys  In,,  and  calling  one  of  the  dogs  to  him,  said, 
**  Lie  down  there,  sir,  till  I  come  to  you  \  "  pointing 
to  a  spot  just  outside  the  door.  Then,  turning  to  the 
boys,  with  the  words,  **  Ef  ye  try  to  git  away,  he'll 
tear  you  to  pieces,"  left  them  to  their  fate. 
13* 


CHAPTEE   XV. 

BITTER    FRUITS. 

For  a  moment  neither  of  the  boys  spoke,  and  then 
Horace  asked,  angrily,  of  Court  — 

'<  What  does  all  this  mean?  Are  we  on  Mr. 
Thacher's  grounds,  and  what  was  the  cause  of  the 
explosion  ?  You  know  we  were  forbidden  the  use  of 
powder  when  we  first  got  up  our  company." 

*'  Only  in  firearms,"  replied  Court. 

*  *  You  know  that  is  a  pitiful  equivocation  ;  it  was 
not  intended  we  should  use  it  at  all.  You  will  oblige 
me  by  telling  me  how  this  happened.  I  cannot  take 
it  quite  as  coolly  as  you  do,  seeing  that  I  am  badly 
burned." 

«'  "Well,"  said  Court,  sulkily,  **  Van  said  it  would 
be  nice  fun  to  have  a  salute  fired  just  as  the  flag  was 
raised ;  and  so  he  had  a  little  powder  placed  in  a 
crevice  in  a  rock,  and  after  you  had  chmbed  the  tree, 
I  was  to  apply  a  slow  match  to  it.  Van  calculated 
it  would  go  oiF  about  the  time  we  were  ready  to  come 
down;  but  it  went  off  sooner  than  we  expected,  and 
you  were  close  by  the  rock  before  I  knew  it.  I  did 
call  out  as  soon  as  I  could ;  but  it  was  no  use,  —  it 


ECHOES   FllOM   THE   GUN   OF   18G1.  151 

was  too  late.  As  for  old  Thacher,  I  knew  these 
were  his  woods,  but  I  did  n't  suppose  lie  kept  guard 
here.  I  dare  say  Van  did,  though,  now  I  think  of 
it ;  for  he  was  mighty  sly  in  all  his  doings  up  here, 
would  only  go  at  certain  hours,  and  all  such  thing;?. 
I  wish  I  knew,  guess  I  'd  tell  a  thing  or  two  that 
would  make  him  repent  playing  his  tricks  on  me." 

**  Well,"  said  Horace,  contemptuously,  **yan  and 
Hal  have  made  a  cat's  paw  of  you.  I  begin  to  *  see 
It' now.  Herbert  was  right.  Oh,  what  a  fool  I 
have  been  ! " 

**  A  cat's  paw,  indeed  !  If  I  thought  they  had, 
should  n't  they  repent  it !  Well,  if  I  'm  a  cat's  paw, 
you've  been  a  fool  over  and  over  again.  They've 
been  imposing  upon  you  for  weeks,  and  just  trying 
to  do  all  they  could  to  injure  you.  Yes,  I  *  see  it ' 
too,  now.  They  wanted  me  to  help  them,  and  did  n't 
care  how  big  a  scrape  they  got  me  into." 

And  here  Court  began  to  curse  and  swear  and 
stamp  with  impotent  rage,  to  wliich  the  dog  respond- 
ed with  loud  and  prolonged  barking ;  and  Horace, 
smarting  and  blinded  from  the  effects  of  his  burn, 
his  limbs  aching,  and  his  heart  swelling  at  the  treach- 
ery practised  against  him,  sternly  bade  Court  be  si- 
lent and  let  him  think. 

Thinking  was  of  little  comfort  or  help  to  him, 
however.  There  was  no  chance  for  escape,  In  his 
condition ;  for,  even  had  he  dared  to  encounter  tlie 
dog,  he  was  too  weak  and  dizzy  to  do  so,  with  any 


152  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    1861. 

prospect  of  success.  The  more  he  thought  of  his 
present  condition,  and  the  schemes  that  had  brought 
him  to  it,  the  more  angry  and  mortified  he  was.  At 
last  anger  with  his  companions  gave  place  to  the 
voice  of  conscience,  and  indignation  at  himself.  Ap- 
pearances were  all  against  him.  What  would  his 
parenis  and  Herbert  say  to  his  declaration  that  he 
did  n't  know  Fort  Dunbar  was  on  Thacher's  grounds. 
"Why  did  n't  he  know  ?  Why  had  he  gone  blindly 
into  the  trap  set  for  him  ?  Of  what  avail  now  were 
all  his  attempts  to  regain  his  character  at  school. 
Though  he  was  not  guilty  of  any  great  wrong,  yet 
the  situation  he  was  now  in  was  owing  to  his  careless 
manner  of  looking  into  things,  his  neglect  of  wise 
counsel,  his  ready  ear  to  the  voice  of  flattery,  which 
had  blinded  his  judgment,  and  made  him  a  willing 
dupe  of  wicked,  designing  boys.  He  thought,  too, 
of  Thornton,  and  his  advice  to  keep  his  pickets  well 
posted,  and  to  beware  of  insignificant  foes.  He 
thought  of  all  these  things,  and  then,  as  if  to  fill  his 
cup  of  bitterness  to  the  very  brim,  there  flashed  into 
his  mind  the  recollection  of  his  map,  in  his  desk  at 
school,  unfinished !  If  he  had  kept  to  his  original 
plan  of  working  upon  it  with  diligence  till  it  was 
completed,  this  anxiety,  at  least,  would  have  been 
spared  to  him.  And  Horace  groaned  again  in  agony 
of  spirit.  The  smart  from  his  wounds  was  less  pain- 
ful than  his  regrets.  There  could  be  no  hojDC  now 
that  he  could  finish  his  map.     He  felt  sure  that  his 


ECHOES   FKOM   THE   GUN   OF    1861.  153 

eyes  were  injured,  for  a  time,  at  least;  and  eveft  if 
Mr.  Marsh  was  willing,  on  account  of  his  accident, 
to  overlook  its  unfinished  state,  what  security  had  he 
that  he  should  find  it  safe  in  his  desk  as  he  left  it  ? 
Why  had  Van  been  so  anxious  to  see  it  ?  Why  had 
he  examined  it  so  closely  ?  What  a  deep-laid  plan 
Van's  was  !  Who  but  Herbert,  who  had  warned 
him  against  these  boys,  would  believe  that  they  were 
guilty,  and  he  innocent,  when  they  had  been  making 
marked  progress  in  school,  while  he  had  been  pub- 
licly censured  for  his  neglect ! 

Ah!  Horace,  Horace,  the  little  faults  you  have 
80wn  so  lavishly  have  become  a  heavy  harvest  for 
you  to  reap  !  The  little  events  of  your  daily  life, 
which  you  might  have  controlled  to  your  highest 
good,  resisting  temptation,  and  strengthening  your 
character,  you  h&ve  suffered  to  control  you  ! 

Little  things  they  may  seem  to  you,  my  young 
friends,  who  read  this  record,  and  scarcely  worth  so 
many  words,  since  you  cannot  see  that  Horace  did 
anything  very  wrong,  after  all.  So  they  seemed  to 
him,  at  the  time ;  so  they  do  not  seem  to  him  now 
in  their  results.  And  he  thinks,  as  he  sits  in  dark- 
ness and  suffering,  that  he  shall  never,  never  again 
be  so  easily  led  away  from  the  straight  path  of  right, 
or  be  so  easily  duped. 

And  thus  the  slow  hours  lag  on,  and  Court's  ex- 
pressions of  rage  at  his  companions'  meanness  are 
unheeded  by  Horace,  and  unnoticed  save  1-y  the  re- 


154  ECHOES  FROM  THE   GUN   OF   1861. 

sponsive  growl  of  Lion,  who  at  each  loud  tone  of  the 
incensed  boy,  lets  him  know  that  he  is  alert  and  vigi- 
lant. 

Meantime,  where  are  the  Highland  Zouaves?  A 
brave  and  reliable  company,  surely,  thus  to  leave 
their  companions  in  peril. 

When  Van  and  Hal  heard  the  loud  report  from 
the  explosion  of  the  rock,  the  barking  of  the  dogs, 
and  the  angry  voice  of  the  man,  they  began  to  fear 
that  their  work  of  mischief  was  a  little  overdone,  and 
they  held  a  short  consultation  as  to  the  next  step  to 
be  taken.  Some  of  the  boys  wished  to  rush  up  at 
once,  by  a  side  path,  to  the  summit  of  the  rock  and 
rescue  their  comrades ;  but  Van  vetoed  this  plan. 
The  man  or  men,  and  the  dogs,  would  be  more  than 
a  match  for  them ;  they  would  only  get  themselves 
into  trouble  and  not  aid  their  companions.  No,  the 
the  only  thing  to  be  done  was  to  notify  Mr.  Grey, 
and  IMr.  Warrenton,  Court's  father,  of  the  flight  of 
their  sons.  This  Van  undertook  to  attend  to  himself, 
and  desired  the  other  boys  to  go  quietly  home,  and 
say  as  little  as  possible  about  the  affair. 

But  Van  was  in  no  hurry  to  inform  the  gentlemen 
of  what  had  happened,  —  he  hardly  knew  how  to 
frame  his  story  so  as  to  screen  himself  from  all  blame. 
Consequently  it  was  dark  before  he  reached  Mr. 
Grey's  home,  which  was  the  most  distant  one, 
and  told  his  stoiy.  ISIr.  Grey  did  not  ask  many 
questions  or  make  many  comments  upon  Van's  ac- 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF   18G1.  155 

count  of  the  matter,  but  he  regarded  him  sternly  and 
hastened  to  Mr.  Warren  ton's. 

Mr.  Warrenton  did  n't  take  the  matter  so  quietly, 
but  said  angrily  that  they  were  a  pretty  set  of  fellows 
to  put  two  boys  to  the  most  difficult  part  of  their 
enterprise,  and  then  desert  them  in  the  time  of  diffi- 
culty. It  seemed  that  nothing  was  to  be  done  but 
go  direct  to  Mr.  Thacher.  He  received  them  very 
gruffly,  and  at  first  refused  to  allow  the  boys  to  be 
liberated,  appearing  to  consider  their  imprisonment, 
not  only  as  a  good  joke,  as  his  man  had  regarded  it, 
but  also  a  well-merited  punishment  for  trespassing. 

Mr.  Grey  replied  that  the  punishment  might  be  a 
deserved  one,  but  it  was  running  some  risk  of  the 
boys'  lives  to  leave  them  all  night  in  such  a  place ; 
that  he  would  see  that  his  son  was  punished  ac- 
cording to  his  fault,  and  that  he  would  pay  any  fine 
for  trespassing  Mr.  Thacher  thought  proper  to  re- 
quire. ** 

Upon  this  Mr.  Thacher  yielded,  saying,  m  an  under- 
tone, it  was  more  than  he  'd  have  dune  for  any  other 
man  in  the  neighborhood,  as  Mr.  Grey  was  the  only 
one  who  knew  how  to  mind  his  own  business. 

He  then  had  his  man  called,  and  the  j^nrty  set  off 
through  the  woods  to  the  place  of  the  boys'  imprison- 
ment. 

Mr.  Grey  was  shocked  indeed  to  find  Horace 
lying  insensible  upon  the  ground,  his  face  blackened 
with  powder  and  stained  with  blood  from  the  cut  on 
his  forehead. 


156  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

Van  had  merely  mentioned  the  explosion  in  a  care- 
less manner ;  and,  in  fact,  he  did  not  know  that 
Horace  had  been  burned.  Court  gave  but  a  lame  ac- 
count of  the  matter.  Mr.  Warrenton  swore  roundly 
that  the  whole  affair  should  be  looked  into,  and  that 
those  who  had  made  scapegoats  of  the  otliers  should 
pay  dearly  for  it.  Mr.  Grey,  as  before,  expressed 
his  indignation  only  in  his  countenance,  which  grew 
more  and  more  stern. 

Horace  was  taken  home  as  quickly  as  possible,  and 
upon  examination  the  cut  was  found  to  be  slight,  and 
the  bruises  not  very  serious ;  but  he  was  chilled 
and  exhausted  from  his  exposure  to  the  night  air  and 
the  fatigue  he  had  undergone,  and  before  morning 
was  In  a  high  fever,  raving  of  sieges,  scaling  walls, 
and  explosions. 


CHAPTER  XYI. 

VAN   WINS   THE  PRIZE. 

Now,  according  to  the  most  approved  style  of 
stGrv-writlnc:,  I  should  leave  Horace  in  the  midst 
of  his  troubles  and  return  to  Thornton.  But  I  can- 
not desert  him  now  in  his  dark  hour,  and  hasten  to 
relate  how  he  came  out  into  liMit  ao^ain. 

Poor  boy!  his  fever  ran  high,  —  little  knew  or 
cared  he  abaut  the  tender  love  and  anxious  fears  that 
kept  watch  night  and  day  by  his  bedside.  All  things 
had  but  one  meaning  to  him ;  all  faces  but  one  ex- 
pression. He  was  fighting  battles  against  treacher- 
ous foes.  The  idea  of  treachery  seemed  uppermost 
in  his  mind,  for  he  was  particularly  averse  to  those 
who  regarded  him  with  the  most  interest ;  and  one 
day  when  his  mother,  with  anguish  in  her  heart  but 
a  smile  on  her  lips,  bent  over  him  to  perform  some 
office  of  love,  he  motioned  her  away  with  every  ap- 
pearance of  dislike,  and  said:  *' You  smile,  and  I 
know  what  that  means ;  it  means  deception.  Yes, 
a  man  may  smile,  and  smile,  and  be  a  villain.'* 

Then,  tossing  restlessly  upon  his  bed,  he  would 
U 


158  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    18G1. 

call  out  —  **  Beware  of  the  rocks,  the  woods,  the 
fields,  there's  an  enemy  there  ;  he  is  everywhere.  O, 
why  do  you  not  drive  him  away.  Don't  you  see  him 
grinning  at  me  from  behind  that  wall  of  rock  ?' 
pointing,  as  he  spoke,  to  a  half  open  door.  *'  Mark, 
he 's  filling  that  tree  with  powder ;  don't  you  hear  it 
go  off?  Take  care,  you  '11  be  killed  just  a^  I  was. 
I  was  killed  the  other  day,  but  I  had  to  come  to  life 
to  finish  my  map,  and  now  no  one  will  bring  it  to 
me.  Why  don't  you  bring  it  to  me  ;  O,  the  enemy 's 
got  it,  has  he?     I  thought  so." 

He  raved  so  much  of  his  map  that  ]\Ir.  Grey  sent 
over  to  ask  Herbert  Ycre  about  it.  Herbert  told  of 
his'taldng  it  to  school  the  last  day  he  went.  Mr. 
Grey  sent  for  it,  and  it  was  found  safe  in  his  desk, 
neatly  rolled  and  tied  with  a  blue  ribbon  his  mother 
had  given  him  for  that  purpose. 

Mr.  Grey  examined  the  map,  and  passing  it  to  his 
wife,  said,  —  "  It  is  well  begun  and  the  shield  and 
motto  are  finely  executed,  but  the  names  of  places 
are  carelessly  written,  and  there  are  blots  and  marks 
upon  it.  What  a  pity  Horace  should  have  neglected 
his  work  for  these  boys,  who,  I  ijpar,  have  been  play- 
ing a  double  part." 

'*  Cannot  you  find  out  about  the  matter,"  asked 
Mrs.  Grey,  anxiously. 

"No,  Court  says  he  knew  they  were  on  Thacher's 
grounds,  but  he  did  n't  suppose  it  was  any  harm,  and 
he  did  n't  think  Horace  thought  it  was  either.     Kow, 


ECHOES   FKOM   THE   GUN    OF    18G1.  159 

Horace  Inav  it  was  wrong  if  he  knew  wliose  land  he 
was  upon.  I  have  questioned  Van  and  Hul,  and  can 
find  out  nothing  against  them  but  the  cowardly  part 
they  acted  in  the  end  of  the  affair.  It  seems  to 
me  Court  knows  more  than  he  chooses  to  tell :  as 
for  the  otlier  boys  in  the  com})any,  it  is  plain  they 
have  told  all  they  do  know.  If  Horace  recovers  the 
matter  shall  be  thoroughly  sifted.  He  will  tell  the 
truth,  at  all  events.  If  he  does  not,  some  way  will 
be  opened  to  us  to  discover  all  the  facts  of  the  case. 

*'  If,"  repeated  Mrs.  Grey,  with  pale  face  and  tear- 
ful eyes  — 

*'  Yes,  Annie,"  replied  Mr.  Grey,  sadly,  <*  it  is,  if, 
Horace's  situation  is  very  critical,  but  we  will  remem- 
ber that  our  boy  is  in  the  hands  of  his  heavenly 
Father." 

Mr.  Grey  had  not  been  able  thus  far  to  find  out 
the  truth  of  the  late  disastrous  affair  to  Horace.  For 
Court,  who  had  been  so  angry  with  the  other  boys 
on  the  night  of  his  imprisonment,  had  been  very 
easily  intimidated  by  them  into  keeping  their  counsel, 
and,  as  they  declared,  his  own  as  well..  **  For,"  said 
Van,  **  you  have  gone  into  this  thing  with  us  from 
the  first ;  you  knew  all  about  it  that  we  knew,  for 
of  course  we  neither  expected  nor  wished  the  matter 
to  end  as  it  did.  All  we  wanted  was  to  put  Horace 
foremost  in  the  affair  so  that  old  Thacher  would  vent 
his  rage  upon  him,  and  thus  get  the  sneak  into  dis- 
grace with  his  particular,  proper  old  Dad." 


160  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    18&1. 

This  was  tnie,  and  Court,  who  was  really  a  coward, 
feared  the  other  boys  too  much  to  betray  them,  and 
faithfully  promised  to  *  keep  dark'  whatever  was  said. 

So  time  passed,  and  Horace  still  lay  on  his  sick- 
bed in  a  critical  state  when  the  day  came  fixed  upon 
for  the  examination  of  the  maps.  Mr.  Marsh  sent 
a  note  to  Mr.  Grey,  requesting  him  to  send  Horace's 
map,  adding,  if  it  was  nearly  finished  and  proved  to 
be  better  executed  than  the  others,  he  saw  no  reason 
why  it  should  not  take  the  prize  under  the  circum- 
stances. 

*'  There  is  not  a  shadow  of  a  chance  for  Horace," 
said  Mr.  Grey,  when  he  read  the  note. 

*'  Why,  then,"  anxiously  asked  Mrs.  Grey,  *'  do 
you  send  it?" 

*'  Because,  I  think  it  right  to  do  so,"  he  replied, 
*'  as  Mr.  i\Iarsh  has  sent  for  it.  Had  it  been  well 
executed  throughout  we  should  gladly  have  sent  it. 
That  part  of  it  is  very  carelessly  done  is  a  misfor- 
tune, and  a  fault,  too,  but  one  that  we  have  no  right 
to  conceal.  If  the  lesson  it  can  teach  is  not  for 
Horace  it  may  be  for  another." 

The  examination  of  the  maps  resulted  in  Van's 
being  pronounced  the  best,  without  a  dissenting  voice. 
When  this  was  announced  to  the  school  by  Mr. 
Lewis,  a  friend  of  Mr.  Marsh's,  from  the  city,  and 
a  stranger  to  all  the  boys,  he  added,  that  while  giving 
the  prize  to  the  owner  of  the  map  marked  with  two 
crossed  swords,  the  committee  must  admit  that  a  part 


ECHOES    FliOM   THE    GUN    OF    18G1.  IGl 

of  the  execution  of  the  one  which  bore  the  motto 
Talis  viribus  within  a  shield,  was  really  superior  to 
that  of  the  one  which  had  gained  the  prize.  **  So 
much  superior,"  he  continued,  <<that  I  regret  it 
sliould  be  defaced  by  such  evident  marks  of  haste 
and  carelessness.  I  am  afraid  the  lad  whose  work  it 
is  lacks  perseverance,  a  grievous  feature  in  any  char- 
acter. Let  me  advise  him  in  future  to  take  as  much 
pains  in  finishing  as  beginning  whatever  he  under-' 
takes." 

Alas,  he  knew  not  that  the  boy  whose  work  he 
was  criticising  was  lying  even  then  between  life  and 
death,  and  that  a  few  more  hours  would  determine 
whether  his  right  hand  would  ever  hold  pen  or  pencil 
more. 

It  was  even  so,  for  the  crisis  of  his  disease  was  at 
hand,  and  in  tearful  prayer  his  parents  awaited  their 
heavenly  Father's  will. 

Van  received  the  books  with  ill-concealed  triumph, 
and  walked  homeward  with  Hal,  exulting  that  their 
schemes  had  been  successful.  ''If  Horace  o-ets 
well  and  declares  he  did  n't  leave  his  map  in  such  a 
state,  it'll  be  no  use — there's  nothing  to  prove  his 
words,  and  all  his  careless  habits  are  against  him," 
said  Van. 

"  Yes,"  said  Hal,  '*  and  if  he  does  n't  the  matter 's 

done  with  ;  we  've  carried  this  through  and  I  've  had 

enough  of  it  for  one,  and  mean  to  let  him  alone  in 

future.     I  hope  he  won't  die;  it  gives  me  an  ugly 

14* 


162  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

feeling  to  think  of  that ;    it  was  a  mean  thing,  as 
Court  says,  to  leave  them  there  by  themselves." 

"  Oh,  get  out  with  your  sciTiples,  the  day  after  the 
fair,''  said  Van,  angrily.  *'  You  were  ready  enough 
then  to  leave  them ;  and  as  we  did  n't  know  they 
would  be  kept  there  ill  the  damp  so  long,  how  are 
we  to  blame,  I  should  like  to  know?  " 

*'  At  least,  you  might  have  let  his  map  alone," 
said  Hal.  **  That  was  mean  when  he  was  sick  in 
his  bed ;  I'm  sorry  I  helped  you,  there." 
*  '  *  Shut  up  ^Wth  you ;  how  do  you  know  who  's 
passing  us.  I  thought  he  'd  be  out  In  a  day  or  two 
when  I  did  it,  and  I  wanted  to  fix  him  out  both 
ways, — what 's  done 's  done,  and  it's  no  use  to  re- 
pent of  it." 

*'  No,"  said  Hal,  with  a  sneer,  '*  certainly  not, 
when  one  has  gained  a  handsome  set  of  books  by  it." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

TRUTH   PREVAILS. 

But  I  leave  these  boys  to  their  quarrel,  which 
waxed  hotter  and  hotter  till  they  parted,  mutually 
enraged  with  each  other,  and  return  to  Mr.  Marsh, 
who,  when  he  was  alone  In  his  schoolroom,  took  up 
Horace's  map  and  regarded  it  with  a  stern  yet  sor- 
rowing face. 

**  Too  bad,  too -bad,  and  the  boy  was  so  capable," 
said  he  unconsciously  aloud.  At  this  moment  he 
heard  a  slight  noise,  and  raising  his  eyes  saw  at  the 
door  two  boys,  the  smaller  of  whom  came  forward, 
while  the  larger  remained  at  the  door. 

*<  What  do  you  want?"  asked  Mr.  ]Marsh. 

*'  "Want  to  tell  you  suthin,"  was  the  gruff  answer. 

**  What  is  It?  speak,  for  I  am  in  haste,"  said  Mr. 
Marsh  quickly,  for  the  boy's  appearance,  coarse, 
ragged,  and  dirty  as  he  was,  was  not  prepossessing. 

"  I  knows  all  about  that  'ere  map,  the  sick  un's, 
I  mean." 

*'You,  how?"  was  the  astonished  reply,  '*  and 
who  are  you  ?  " 

*'  Mv  name  's  Josh  Grew." 


164  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN  OF   1861. 

Now,  Josh  Grew  was  the  small  boy  who,  upon  the 
day  of  the  attack  of  Fort  Dunbar,  had  been  heard 
to  utter  threats  against  Van,  but  of  this  Mr.  Marsh 
knew  nothing.  Out  of  a  spirit  of  wanton  mischief, 
not  because  he  cared  which  of  the  two  was  right, 
Van  had  one  day  interfered  between  this  boy  and  a 
larger  one  in  a  quarrel,  taking  the  part  of  the  larger. 
Josh  neither  forgot  nor  forgave  this  act,  and  even  as 
Van  had  done  with  Horace,  so  had  his  smaller  foe 
watched  for  his  opportunity  of  revenge. 

From  time  to  time  he  had  heard  scraps  of  talk 
between  Van  and  Hal,  and  sometimes  Court,  that 
soon  put  his  keen  wits  upon  a  track  that  he  thought 
would  lead  to  revenge.  But  he  knew  full  well  that 
his  own  character  for  truth  was  by  no  means  so  good 
amons:  those  who  knew  him  as  to  have,  his  word 
taken  against  boys  so  far  removed  from  him  in  social 
position,  as  well  as  in  reputation.  While  casting 
about  in  his  prematurely  cunning  brain  how  he  should 
remedy  this  defect  in  his  evidence  against  Van,  acci- 
dent threw  an  opportunity  in  his  way,  of  which  he 
was  not  slow  to  avail  himself. 

The  conversation  which  ensued  between  Mr.  Marsh 
and  the  two  boys  will  be  inferred  from  what  follows. 

The  next  day  everything  passed  off  as  usual  in 
school  till  twelve  o'clock,  when  Mr.  Marsh  requested 
the  boys  to  lay  aside  their  books,  as  he  had  some- 
thing of  importance  to  communicate  to  them. 

When,    this    order   was    obeyed    with   wondering 


ECHOES   FKOM   THE    GUN    OF    18C1.  1G5 

astonishment  by  the  pupils,  Mr.  Marsh  stood  up  on 
his  desk  and  looked  around  upon  the  scholars  with 
an  air  of  deep  feeling,  and  addressed  them  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

*'Bojs,  the  matter  to  which  I  wish  to  call  your 
attention  is  one  of  great  importance  to  me,  and  I 
hope  it  will  prove  to  be  no  less  so  to  you,  since  it 
involves  the  character  of  one  of  your  schoolmates 
now  lying  dangerously  ill.  I  do  not  doubt  many  of 
you  think  that  the  faults  of  which  Horace  Grey  has 
been  deemed  guilty  are  trifling  in  their  nature.  In 
fact,  so  much  so,  as  to  make  it  unadvisable  to  refer 
to  them.  You,  none  of  you,  think  it  a  very  bad 
thing  to  trespass  upon  the  grounds  of  a  neighbor 
whom  you  think  unsocial  or  disobliging.  You,  none 
of  you,  think  carelessness  in  habits,  or  neglect  of 
lessons,  a  very  grave  fault. 

*  *  Yet  it  is  certain ,  if  Horace  Grey  Tcnowinghj  tres- 
passed upon  i\Ir.  Thacher's  grounds,  he  committed 
the  double  fault  of  disobedience  to  his  father's  com- 
mands and  infringing  upon  the  rights  of  another. 

"  These  misdemeanors,  even  your  boyish  habits  of 
viewing  leniently  small  faults,  as  you  call  them,  can- 
not excuse.  As  for  carelessness  and  neglect  of  study, 
I  consider  them  grave  errors  in  themstlves,  and  the 
evils  to  which  they  lead  are  legion,  and  their  results 
lifelong. 

' '  But  my  present  object  is  to  lay  before  you  a  few 
fiicts,  wliich  in  a  most  unexpected  manner  have  come 


166  ECHOES  .FROM   THE   aUN    OF    1861. 

to  my  knowledge,  and  then  I  shall  leave  you  to  de- 
cide whether  Horace  is  guilty  of  the  charges  that 
have  been  brought  ao^amst  him." 

A  breathless  silence  pervaded  the  schoolroom  at 
these  words.  Eager  looks  were  interchanged,  and 
Van,  who  had  at  first  glanced  triumphantly  at  Hal, 
as  much  as  to  say,  *'he's  got  to  be  publicly  dis- 
graced 'now,"  changed  countenance,  and  looked 
alarmed  and  anxious. 

Mr.  Marsh  continued:  *«  Van  Dusen  Whltmore, 
Courtland  Warrenton,  and  Harry  Glerson,  you  are 
accused  of  being  engaged  in  a  conspiracy  against 
Horace  Grey's  character ;  of  endeavoring  to  seduce 
him  from  his  duties ;  of  making  him,  unknown  to 
himself,  commit  an  unwarrantable  trespass  upon  a 
neighbor's  grounds ;  and  finally,  of  defacing  the 
map  which  he  had  partially  completed,  thus  causing 
him  to  appear  guilty  of  great  carelessness. 

"  The  first  witness  I  shall  summon  against  you  is 
Stephen  Harwood.  You  best  know  whether  his  evi- 
dence will  be  in  your  favor  or  against  you.  Stephen 
Harwood,  have  you  any  reason  to  suppose  that  there 
has  been  a  conspiracy  among  these  boys  against 
Horace  Grey?" 

Stephen  rose  in  his  seat,  no  less  astonished  at 
being  called  upon,  than  the  guilty  boys  were  that  he 
should  be,  and  said  :  "  Some  weeks  ago,  sir,  I  knew 
there  was  something  of  the  sort  growing  out  of  the 
foolish  scrape  to  which  I  also  was  a  party.     But  I 


ECUOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    18G1.  107 

have  heard  nothing  of  it  of  Lite,  or  seen  any  indi- 
cations that  they  bore  Horace  any  ill-will.  On  the 
contrary " 

'*  That  is  sufficient  on  that  point.  Confine  your- 
self in  your  evidence  strictly  to  answering  the  ques- 
tions that  are  asked.  Relate  the  circumstances  of 
that  affair  to  which  you  allude  as  accurately  as 
possible." 

Stephen  gave  the  account  with  which  my  readers 
are  already  familiar,  taking  care  this  time  not  to  add 
any  of  his  own  impressions. 

AVhen  he  had  finished,  Mr.  Marsh  said  :  *'  Now, 
I  wish  to  ask  you  what  knowledge  you  have  of  their 
feelings  towards  Horace  of  late,  or  rather,  what  your 
impressions  upon  that  point  are  ?  " 

"  I  have  noticed  proofs  of  marked  friendliness, 
sir,  towards  Horace." 

'  *  What  effect  did  this  altered  course  of  conduct 
have  upon  your  mind  ?  " 

*  *  It  surprised  me  at  first,  because  it  was  so  unex- 
pected ;.  but  after  a  while  I  supposed  they  had  for- 
gotten the  affair,  and  in  consequence  I  ceased  to  feel 
any  more  anxiety  about  Horace." 

* '  Why  was  it  unexpected  ?  boys  often  quarrel 
furiously  and  then  are  good  friends  immediately 
afterwards." 

*'If  you  will  excuse  me,  sir,  I  should  prefer  not 
to  answer  that  question,  except  by  saying  it  arose 
from  my  knowledge  of  the  parties  concerned." 


168  ECHOES   FKOM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

A  half  smile  stole  over  Mr.  Marsh's  face,  as  if  the 
answer  was  quite  sufficient  for  him,  but  it  was  in- 
stantly repressed,  and  he  said,  **  That  will  do  Ste- 
phen,—  you  may  sit  down." 

Mr.  Marsh  then  rang  a  bell,  and  the  door  opened 
and  three  boys  entered.  Slouching,  spiteful,  and 
leering  sideways  at  Van,  came  Josh  Grew,  followed 
by  Joe  Lane,  a  poor  boy,  well  known  to.  Mr.  Marsh 
for  his  steady,  industrious  habits,  and  Tom  Dale, 
who  took  charge  of  the  schoolroom. 

<*  Come  forward,  Joshua  Grew,  and  tell  me  what 
you  know  of  a  plot  against  Horace  Grey,''  said 
Mr.  Marsh. 

' '  I  knows  I  've  heerd  them  boys  talk  it  over  in  the 
woods  and  down  by  the  shore,  lots  of  times.  They 
.said  as  how  they  'd  fix  out  Horace  Grey  yet;  that 
they  never  forgot  a  grudge ;  that  he  should  pay  yet 
for  spiling  their  fun.  I  heerd  em  say  as  how  they  'd 
make  him  go  up  to  old  Thacher's  w^oods,  and  put  a 
flag  on  the  tallest  tree  there ;  that  the  old  man  was 
a  southern  suthin  —  I  forget  w^hat  —  only  I  made 
out  he  'd  be  all-fired  mad  to  see  the  Union  flasr  a 
waving  on  his  trees.  They  said  he  was  such  a  care- 
less, reckless  dog,  he  'd  never  know  whether  he  was 
on  Queen  Victory's  grounds  or  whose ;  that  his 
father  'd  be  tarnation  mad  with  him,  as  well  as  Skin- 
flint, and  old  Marsh.  I  heerd  'em  say,  too,  they  'd 
spile  his  map  for  him  if  he  did  n't  spile  it  hisself. 
Leastways,  they  all  talked  about  these  'ere  things, — 


ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1801.  169 

but  that  one,  pointing  to  Van,  seemed  to  be  most 
spiteful  like." 

**  IIow  came  you  to  hear  all  this  ;  you  must  have 
been  spying?"  asked  Mr.  Marsh,  when  the  boy  had 
got  to  the  end  of  his  volubly  delivered  story. 

**  I  was  in  the  woods  one  day  when  two  on  'em. 
Van  and  Hal,  came  along  and  I  heerd  suthin  about 
it  then,  so  I  j;racked  'em  urterwards  and  used  to  hide 
and  listen." 

"  AVhat  was  your  object  In  pursuing  such  a  mean 
course  ? " 

**  O,  curosity,  I  'spect,  to  begin  with ;  and  then  I 
owed  Van  a  grudge  and  thought  this  'ud  pay  it  off." 

**  How  then  do  you  expect  your  story  to  be  be- 
lieved, if  you  own  that  you  owe  a  boy  a  grudge?" 
asked  Mr.  Marsh,  severely. 

**  Did  n't  never  'spect  nobody  to  'bleve  me,  as 
nobody  never  does  ;  but  I  thought  I'd  kinder  frighten 
'em  about  it  arter  I'd  heerd  all  I  wanted  to.  But  as 
good  luck  'd  have  it,  a  boy  came  along  one  day  folks' 
could  'bleve,  and  as  soon  as  I  see  him,  says  I,  *  bully 
for  you,  Joe  Lane,  you's  the  chap.'  But  he  was 
goin'  on  straight  ahead,  and  says  I  *  no  you  don't ;  ' 
says  he,  *  yes  I  am,  I'm  in  a  hurry.'  '  O,  says  I, 
very  well ;  then  you  don't  want  to  help  git  Horace 
Grey  out  of  a  big  scrape,  do  you?'  '  What?'  says 
he,  stopping  short.  <  That's  so,'  says  I,  *  an'  then  I 
telled  him  all  I  knew,  an'  what  I  wanted  him  for,  an' 
15 


170  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

that  I  knowed  the  boys  'd  be  'long  soon.  He  can 
tell  the  rest  hisself." 

Mr.  Marsh  then  requested  Joe  to  tell  all  he  knew 
about  the  affah'  in  question. 

Joe  rose  with  evident  unwillingness  and  said, 
''  It 's  just  as  Josh  tells  you,  sir.  I  was  plaguey  loth 
to  turn  listener,  for  it  ain't  in  my  line  ;  but  I  'd  do 
anything  to  serve  Horace  Grey,  for  he  's  been  real 
kind  to  me,  and  his  mother  'd  helped  my  mother 
when  she  was  in  a  deal  of  trouble.  So,  when  the 
boys  came  down  to  the  shore,  as  Josh  thought  they 
would,  I  heard  Van  say  to  Master  Hal,  '  It's  about 
all  fixed  now;  he's  as  ready  as  can  be  to  run  head- 
long into  my  trap.  "When  he  's  performed  the  gal- 
lant exploit  I  keep  cramming  him  with,  of  scaling 
Fort  Dunbar,  and  planting  the  flag  in  the  enemy's 
country  (poor  fool,  he  don't  know  it  is  the  enemy's 
in  earnest) ,  *I  guess  he  '11  have  to  come  down  a  peg 
in  old  Marsh's  estimation,  as  well  as  his  governor's. 
As  to  his  map  —  we  sliall  see.'" 

*  *  How  came  you  to  hear  so  distinctly  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Marsh.  <«  It  seems  very  careless  in  boys  who  have 
a  plot  against  another  to  talk  so  freely  of  it  out  of 
doors." 

*'  Why,  sir,  they  did  speak  low,  and  could  see  all 
around  them,  but  we  were  perched  behind  a  rock 
over  their  heads.  It  was  n't  a  likely  place  to  be  look- 
ing out  for  listeners." 

* '  What  more  do  you  know  about  this  matter  ?  " 


ECHOES   FROM    THE   GUN   OF    18G1.  171 

• 
<*  Well,  sir,  the  day  after  the  Fort  Dunbar  scrape 
Josh  came  to  me  and  wanted  me  to  go  Into  the  woods 
over  there,  that  side  of  the  schoolroom.  He  said 
there  was  more  mischief  brewing,  and  I  must  go  and 
find  it  out.  So  I  came  and  hid  behind  a  tree  just 
over  by  that  window,  sir,"  pointing,  as  he  spoke,  to 
a  large  tree  opposite  a  window  which  commanded  a 
view  of  a  row  of  desks,  in  the  range  of  which  was 
the  one  occupied  by  Horace  Grey.  "  I  heard  steps, 
and  presently  Hal-came  up  and  went  Into  the  lower 
schoolroom,  and  seemed  to  be  looking  for  something, 
and  then  I  heard  him  ask  Tom  to  go  up  to  the  reci- 
tation rooms  and  help  him  hunt  for  his  pencil.  I 
heard  them  go  up  stairs ;  they  made  a  good  deal  of 
noise ;  and  then,  two  minutes  after.  Van  came  in 
and  went  to  a  desk  over  there  —  I  don't  know  exactly 
which  one  —  and  took  out  a  roll  tied  with  a  blue  rib- 
bon and  put  it  into  his  pocket,  and  then  slipped  out 
as  fast  as  he  could  and  came  into  the  wood  where 
Josh  and  me  were  hiding.  I  was  scared  for  fear  he  'd 
find  us  ;  but  luckily  he  wanted  to  hide  where  he  could 
see  the  schoolroom  door.  Presently  out  came  Hal 
whistling,  and  he  joined  Yan  in  the  woods,  and  I 
heard  Yan  gay  '  all  right ;  come  to-morrow  morning 
and  I'll  bring  the  map  back  after  I  've  finished  it  for 
Horace,'  and  then  they  both  laughed.  So  I  came 
early  in  the  morning,  too,  with  Josh,  and  got  behind 
the  same  tree,  and  pretty  soon  along  came  Hal  again 
and  waited  till  Tom  came  up.     Then  he  said,  '  let 


172  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN    OF    18G1. 

me  in  to  the  schoolroom,  will  you?  I  can't  find  my 
gold  pencil  and  it  must  be  here.'  So  Tom  let  him  in, 
and  I  saw  him  rummaging  about,  but  I  coudn't  hear 
what  he  said  because  the  windows  were  shut ;  but 
pretty  soon  the  two  went  off  up  stairs  again,  though 
Tom  looked  as  if  he  did  n't  like  to  over -much.  Then 
Van  comes  in  as  before,  and  puts  back  the  roll 
into  the  desk,  and  looks  about  kind  of  scared  and 
runs  out,  and  walked  off  a  little  way  from  the  school- 
room down  by  the  brook." 

"How  do  you  know,  as  you  could  not  see  him 
pass  around  the  schoolroom  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  jNIarsh. 

**  No,  sir,  I  could  n't,  but  I  saw  him  in  the  path 
after  he  got  beyond  the  schoolroom." 

'*  Why  should  he  have  gone  that  way  instead  of 
the  way  he  came  ?  " 

'*  To  avoid  meeting  any  one,  sir." 

A  peculiar  expression  passed  over  Mr.  ]\Iarsh's 
countenance  at  this  reply,  which  no  one  but  Van 
could  interpret, — that  he  could,  was  evident  from 
the  crimson  flush  that  overspread  his  face. 

*asthisaU?" 

*'  Yes,  sir,  and  I  hope  you  '11  believe  that  I  never 
did  such  a  mean  thing  before  as  to  follow  boys  about 
and  spy  on  them ,  and  that  I  would  n't  have  done  it 
now  for  anything  else  than  to  save  Horace  from  being 
blamed  for  what  he  did  n't  know  was  wi'ong,  and  for 
what  he  did  n't  do.  And  I  heard,  too,  he  was  sick 
and  mio'ht  die." 


KCUOES   FKOM    THE    GUN   OF    1861.  173 

<*  Yes,  I  believe  you,  Joe,  and  so  I  think  do  all 
present,"  said  Mr.  Marsh,  looking  around  upon  the 
eager  faces -upraised  to  his. 

*'  Xow,  Tom,  what  have  you  to  say?" 

<*  I  don't  know  nothin'  'bout  it,  sir,  'cept  what  Joe 
jist  telled  you  'bout  Hal's  comin'  to  look  for  his  pen- 
cil. It  was  jist  as  he  said,  and  I  didn't  see  Van  nor 
him  nother,  an'  I  didn't  know  they  was  about.  I 
know  I  was  pretty  cross  to  hev  to  leave  my  work  an' 
go  an'  help  him  find  his  pencil ;  an'  now  it  seems  it 
was  jist  to  cheat  me.     I  calls  it  real  mean,' I  does." 

*«  That  will  do,  Tom.  You  can  retire  boys,"  said 
Mr.  Marsh,  motioning  to  the  three  witnesses.  I 
have  now  a  little  evidence  of  my  own  to  give  upon 
this  matter,  and  then  we  will  hear  if  the  accused 
have  anything  to  say  in  their  defence.  In  conse- 
quence of  an  interview  that  I  had  with  Josh  and  Joe 
yesterday  noon,  I  took  Horace  Grey's  map  over  to 
i\Ir.  Vane's,  as  I  knew  that  Horace  had  done  a 
great  deal  of  the  work  upon  It  there  in  Herbert's 
room.  Herbert  told  me  that  when  Horace  took  the 
map  from  his  room,  which  was  the  day  of  the  siege 
of  Fort  Dunbar,  there  was  not  a  name  written  upon 
it,  and  that  he  was  very  positive  that  the  handwrit- 
ing, though  very  similar  to  his  friend's,  was  not  his, 
in  proof  of  which  he  showed  me  several  notes  that 
Horace  had  written  to  him,  and  I  agreed  with  him  in 
his  opinion. 

I  know  that  Horace  brought  his  maj^o  school,  for 


174  ECHOES   FROM    THE    GUN    OF    1861. 

I  noticed  at  recess  that  lie  sat  in  his  desk  at  work, 
and  I  went  to  him  and  told  him  that  he  must  take  his 
recess.  I  glanced  inadvertently  at  his  map  as  I  stood 
there,  and  observed  that  there  were  no  names  written 
upon  it  then.  After  recess  I  gave  the  boys  an  unex- 
pected lesson  to  learn,  and  Horace  had  no  more  time 
to  work  upon  it.  When  I  looked  at  the  map  previous 
to  its  examination  by  the  committee,  I  supposed  that 
he  had  written  the  names  hastily  at  noon,  and  that 
this  accounted  for  the  blots  upon  it  and  the  careless 
writing.  '  You  now  see  that  such  could  not  have  been 
the  case.  One  word  more  and  my  e^-idence  is  given. 
The  morning  upon  which  Joe  Lane  states  that  the 
map  was  returned  to  the  desk  by  Yan,  I  met  him 
about  an  eighth  of  a  mile  from  the  schoolroom,  in 
the  path  leading  by  the  brook.  This  path  Joe  Lane 
also  saw  him  take,  as  you  have  heard. 

I  now  call  upon  the  accused  ta  answer  for  their 
share  in  this  affair  ;  and  first  — 

*•  Yan  Dusen  Whitmore,  what  have  you  to  say  in 
your  defence  ?  " 

"  I  say,"  said  Yan  angrily,  rising  and  facing  Mr. 
~  Marsh  almost  defiantly,  "  that  you've  got  a  pretty 
set  of  witnesses  together,  beginning  with  a  thief,  liar, 
and  blackguard ;  for  Steve's  evidence  amounts  to 
nothing,  as  you  well  know.  A  pretty  set,  indeed, 
to  testify  against  a  gentleman's  son  !  And  I  say  that 
I  've  nothing  to  urge  in  my  defence.  My  case  is 
prejudged,  aod  I  don't  expect  justice  from  you." 


ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861.  175 

**  And  joii,  Harry  Gierson?" 

**  I  say,  Sir,  that  I  am  heartily  ashamed  of  the 
part  I  Ve  taken  in  this  affair,  and  that  if  I  'd  have 
known  the  mean  things  I  should  do  when  I  began,  I 
would  n't  have  had  any  share  in  it,  —  biit  somehow 
I  was  so  mad  with  Horace  I  only  thought  of  paving 
him  off.  And  I  beg  your  pardon.  Sir,  for  what  I  've 
done,  and  I  will  beg  Horace  Grey's,  too,  if  I  ever 
get  the  chance." 

< «  Courtland  Warrenton  ?  " 

**  O,  please  don't  punish  me.  Sir,  or  send  me  away 
from  school.  I  got  into  the  scrape,  and  Van  and 
Hal  kept  threatening  me  all  the  time  if  I  did  n't  stay 
by  them.  I  beg  your  pardon,  and  I  wont  do  so  an- 
other time." 

**  Boys,"  said  Mr.  Marsh,  **  if  any  among  you 
think  your  schoolfellows  have  been  wrongfully  ac- 
cused, you  are  at  liberty  to  say  so." 

An  ominous  silence  pervaded  the  schoolroom. 

*'  Then  I  proceed  to  pronounce  sentence  upon  you. 

Van  Dusen  "Whitmore,  yours  is  expulsion  from  the 
school  which  you  have  disgraced,  not  only  because 
you  have  been  the  leader  in  this  conspiracy  against 
an  innocent  boy,  but  because  you  show  neither  peni- 
tence nor  a  desire  to  make  reparation  for  your 
offence. 

Harry  Gierson  and  Courtland  Warrenton,  I  accept 
your  apologies,  and  I  will  retain  you"  in  school  upon 
probation.  It  rests  with  yourselves  whether  or  not 
you  remain  permanently. 


176  ECHOES   FKQM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

Van  Dusen,  if  at  any  future  time  you  should  wish  to 
return  to  my  school  you  can  do  so,  by  acknowledging 
your  fault  in  a  full  confession,  and  promising  future 
amendment.  For  your  sake  I  hope  Horace  Grey 
will  recover.  The  knowledge  that  through  a  per- 
sistent determination  to  injure  his  character  you  were 
indirectly  the  cause  of  his  death,  would  be  a  grievous 
remembrance  for  you.  Take,  I  beseech  you,  this 
lesson  home  to  your  heart  — 


'  Truth  crushed  to  earth  will  rise  again. 
The  eternal  years  of  God  are  hers." 


Here  you  have  gone  on,  week  after  week,  weaving  a 
tissue  of  falsehoods,  flattering  and  deceiving  a  boy 
of  an  open  and  unsuspicious  nature,  apparently  suc- 
cessful in  the  end  you  sought  to  gain,  when  lo,  mys- 
terious power  of  retribution !  a  witness  rises  up 
against  you  in  the  form  of  a  vindictive  boy,  whom  in 
a  moment  of  wanton  tyranny  you  had  injured.  As 
revenge  prompted  you  to  plot  against  a  companion 
whose  sole  fault  was  adherence  to  duty,  so 'the  same 
passion  prompts  a  keen-witted  child,  schooled  in  arts 
and  cunning,  to  plot  in  his  turn  against  you,  and 
bring  your  schemes  to  the  light  of  truth.  You  have 
/ailed  in  the  hour  of  your  greatest  triumph.  He  has 
succeeded,  and  the  majesty  of  truth  is  vindicated. 
Reflect  upon  this  aflliir,  I  beg  of  you,  and  do  not 
give  yourself  up  to  the  dominion  of  evil  passions. 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    1861.  177 

**  Boys,"  continued  ]Mr.  ]Marsh,  in  a  deep,  solemn 
Toice,  looking  around  upon  his  scholars  as  he  spoke, 
*<  I  do  not  think  you  need  one  word  of  comment  from 
me  upon  what  you  have  just  heard.  You  can  now 
lay  aside  your  books  and  return  to  your  homes.  For 
myself,  I  shall  go  to  Mr.  Grey's  at  once.  I  hope 
to-morrow  to  bring  you  good  tidings  from  Horace,  — 
I  mean  what  you  will  call  good  tidings,  —  in  any 
event  it  will  be  well  with  him." 

My  readers  can  imagine  the  confusion  and  babel 
of  voices  that  ensued  upon  the  boys  finding  them- 
selves in  the  open  air,  free  to  give  expression  to  their 
long  pent-up  feelings  of  astonishment,  indignation, 
and  satisfaction.  The  whole  matter  was  so  strange 
to  them,  —  no  one  but  Steve  had  ever  dreamed  of 
any  ill-will  towards  Horace  upon  the  part  of  the  guilty 
boys.  They  expressed  themselves  in  the  unmeasured 
terms  of  condemnation  which  boys  use  when  once 
fjiirly  aroused  to  indignation.  Steve  was  surrounded 
and  questioned ;  but  he  said  his  head  ached,  he  was 
■  sick,  and  he  had  told  already  all  he  knew.  Yan  had 
taken  his  books,  and  walked  off  with  an  air  of  in- 
jured pride.  Harry  lingered  till  the  other  boys  had 
left  Steve,  and  then  went  up  to  him,  and  they  walked 
slowly  away  through  the  wood,  striking  out  upon  the 
path  which  led  to  the  brook.  As  for  Court,  he 
sneaked  off  home  by  himself,  trying  not  to  believe 
that  the  words  he  overheard:  '*  pitiful  sneak,  cow- 
ard, cat's  paw,"  &c.  were  applied  to  him. 


178  ECHOES  FROM  THE  GUN  OF   1861. 

Mr.  Marsh  went  to  ]Mr.  Grey's,  and  in  answer  to 
his  earnest  inquiries  about  Horace,  was  told  by  his 
father  that  the  crisis  was  past,  and  that  he  was  slowly 
recovering.  i\Ir.  Grey's  surprise  at  Mr.  Marsh's 
report  of  the  events  of  the  morning  was  only  equalled 
by  hi.s  gratitude  that  the  whole  mystery  with  regard 
to  his  son  was  cleared  up. 


CHAPTER  XVin. 

HORACE    MANIFESTS    AN    UNFAILD^G    SIGN    OF    CON- 
VALESCENCE. 

Horace's  recovery  was  very  tedious.  The  fever 
had  fed  upon  his  fresh,  young  Hfe,  and  when  it  left 
him  he  was  the  shadow  of  his  former  self.  His 
mental  sufferings,  too,  were  as  great  as  his  physical. 
Those  of  you  who  have  passed  through  a  violent  fit  of 
sickness,  know  how  hard  getting  well  is,  —  how  the 
limbs  ache,  how  the  head  throbs  and  tires  at  the  least 
thought  and  exertion,  how  the  grassliopper  is  a  bur- 
den :  and  you  scarcely  feel  grateful  for  the  boon  of  a 
life  that  day  after  day  is  such  a  weariness  to  you. 
How  irritable  you  are  ;  how  you  rebel  against  the  kind 
and  needful  restrictions  of  parents  and  friends  ;  and 
you  see  everybody  and  everything  through  the  distorted 
medium  of  a  feeble  body  and  weak  nerves.  All  this 
Horace  felt,  and  he  had  other  troubles  too.  As 
soon  as  he  recovered  his  senses,  after  the  crisis  in  his 
disease  was  over,  he  felt  a  great  weight  upon  his 
spirits,  for  which  he  could  not  account ;  for  tlie  past 
was  very  confused  to  him,  and  nothing  stood  out 
clearly  in    his    remembrance.      But    this    confusion 


180  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

passed  away  in  a  few  days,  and  every  event  preceding 
his  sickness  flashed  distinctly  into  his  mind.  He  was 
not  much  troubled  at  the  remembrance  of  the  trespass 
he  had  committed  upon  Mr.  Thacher's  grounds,  al- 
thou'T-h  it  was,  as  he  acknowledged,  owing  to  his 
careless  way  of  rushing  into  things  without  suflScient 
forethought ;  but  he  knew  that  he  was  innocent  of 
any  intention  to  do  wrong,  and  he  knew,  too,  that 
his  father  and  mother  would  believe  him  when  he  told 
them  so. 

But  he  was  very  much  disturbed  when  he  thought 
of  his  map,  and  the  unfinished  state  in  which  he  had 
left  it ;  for  he  had  staked  much  more  upon  his  success 
in  winning  the  prize  for  the  map  than  any  one  knew. 
He  did  not,  as  he  told  Yan,  care  so  very  much  for 
the  prize  in  itself,  but  he  did  care  for  it  as  an  honor- 
able testimonial  from  his  teacher,  and  as  a  proof  to 
him  and  his  parents  that  he  could  overcome  his  care- 
less and  dilatory  habits.  O,  why  had  he  not  attended 
to  his  first  resolution,  to  finish  it  entirely  before  he 
engaged  in  anything  likely  in  any  way  to  draw  off  his 
attention  from  it.  He  could  just  as  easily  have 
finished  it  before  the  siege  of  Fort  Dunbar  as  not, 
by  the  practice  of  a  little  resolution. 

He  wished  to  know  the  result  of  the  examination, 
whether  after  all  his  map,  unfinished  though  it  was, 
mio-ht  not  have  been  admitted  with  the  others.  And 
the  boys  who  had  schemed  against  him,  all  of  whose 
plots  and  cunning  devices  were  now  clear  as  day  to 


ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861.  181 

him,  had  they  been  found  out?     Why  didn't  some- 
body tell  him  ? 

So  he  grew  more  and  more  moody  and  irritable, 
answering  only  in  monosyllables  his  mother's  and 
Margaret's  kind  inquiries,  and  efforts  to  interest  and 
amuse  him.  At  last  he  could  bear  this  state  of  sus- 
pense no  longer,  and  one  day  said  abruptly  to  his 
mother,   **  Who  got  the  prize  for  the  map  —  Van?" 

**  Yes,"  she  answered,  surprised  at  the  question, 
and  wondering  whether  he  had  been  brooding  over 
that,  and  making  himself  unhappy  when  they  had 
carefully  avoided  any  allusion  to  it,  lest  it  should 
annoy  him. 

He  made  no  reply,  but  his  mother,  seeing  the  dis- 
turbed expression  of  his  face,  added, — Yes,  Van 
got  the  prize ;  undeservedly,  however,  as  it  proved. 
You  shall  hear  the  whole  story  when  you  are  strong 
enough  to  bear  it." 

'*  I  am  strong  enough  now.     Please  tell  me  ;  you 
would  if  you  only  knew  how  the  thought  of  it  haunts 
me  day  and  night." 
/'  Your  father  will  tell  you  if  he  thinks  it  best." 

*'It  is  best,  —  worrying  about  it  just  keeps  me 
back  ;  I  want  to  know  all  about  it.  I  thought  you  'd 
know  I  did,  and  tell  me  before."  This  was  said  in 
one  of  his  crossest  tones,  and  with  the  air  of  a  person 
who  feels  that  he  has  been  injured. 

Tears  came  to  liis  mother's  eyes,  but  she  only  said, 
16 


182-  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    18G1. 

gently,  "  We  did  what  we  thought  was  for  your  good  ; 
I  am  sorry  if  we  have  made  a  mistake." 

This  melted  Horace  at  once,  and  he  said  impetu- 
ously, *'  Please  forgive  me,  mother,  for  speaking  so  ; 
but  you  can't  tell  how  this  affair  has  worried  me,  and 
how  I  want  you  and  father  to  know  the  whole  truth 
about  it ;  and  then,  O  dear,  I  do  feel  so  cross  and 
ugly  it's  much  as  I  can  do  to  speak  decently  to  any- 
body. But  it  is  too  bad  to  speak  so  to  you  !  —  how 
pale  you  look  !  " 

'*  We  have  had  a  very  anxious  time  about  you, 
Horace ;  we  thought  at  one  time  we  must  part  with 
you ;  roses,"  she  added,  with  a  sweet  smile,  *'  do  not 
flourish  if  the  atmosphere  is  too  cloudy  and  damp ; 
for  the  rest,  I  know  pretty  well'  how  you  feel,  but 
you  must  try  and  keep  the  crossness  down  when  you 
can." 

"  O,  I  try  hard  enough;  I  feel  mad  every  day 
when  my  dinner  comes  up,  I  'm  so  hungry  and  you 
allowance  me.     I  could  eat  all  the  world  up." 

**  I  dare  say  you  think  you  could,  and  I  am  sorry 
that  you  must  be  allowanced  at  present.  Eemember 
the  second  plate  of  broth  last  week,  and  the  three 
days  of  high  fever  that  ensued." 

*'  O,"  said  Horace  with  a  grimace,  **  I  Tcnowjov  're 
aJl  right,  mother  dear ;  but  for  all  that,  '  Oliver 
wants  more.'" 

*'  Poor  Oliver,"  said  his  mother,  patting  his  pale, 


ECHOES  JFROM   THE    GUN    OF    ISGl.  183 

thin  cheek,  **  he  shall  have  more  as  soon  and  as  fast 
as  it  is  safe  for  him." 

AVhen  Mr.  Grey  came  home  and  was  informed  of 
the  state  of  Horace's  feehngs,  he  told  him  all  that  he 
knew  about  the  map  as  concisely  as  possible." 

*'  Too  bad  —  too  mean  —  wasn't  it,  father?"  was 
his  comment. 

**  Yes,  bad  enough  and  mean  enough ;  but  worse 
for  Van  than  for  you." 

*  *  Did  Van  keep  the  books  after  he  was  expelled  ?  " 

*'Yes;  or  rather  Mr.  Whitmore  did.  Van  sent 
them  back  to  Mr.  Marsh  with  a  saucy  message,  of 
which  he  took  no  notice,  but  returned  them  to  Van's 
father,  with  the  request  that  he  would  retain  them  for 
his  son  as  a  reminder  of  what  had  occurred.  Mr. 
Whitmore  was  so  angry  with  Van  that  he  kept  the 
books,  though  Van  swore  that  he  would  cut  them  to 
pieces.  He  is  to  be  sent  to  Pennsylvania,  to  a  school 
where  he  will  be  under  constant  restriction  and  ^uar- 
dianship.  I  hope  it  is  not  too  late  to  reform  him  from 
his  wild  courses." 

'*  AVell,  father,"  said  Horace,  with  a  sigh  of  relief, 
*  *  you  see  I  was  not  disobedient  —  at  least  wilfully 

80." 

**  Yes,  Horace,  I  see  you  have  been  far  more  sin- 
ned against  than  sinning ;  and  I  feel  that  you  have 
had  a.  severe  lesson  upon  dilatory  and  careless  habits. 
It  may  however,  severe  as  it  has  been,  be  of  the 
greatest  service  to  you  in  the  future.     I  could  scarcely 


184  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN    OF   1861. 

enumerate  to  you  the  evils  which  follow  in  the  train 
of  procrastination  and  carelessness.  Many  and  many 
a  man  has  had  his  life's  happiness  and  his  prosperity 
marred,  if  not  totally  wrecked,  by  indulgence  in 
them.  And  they  are  so  often  considered  little  faults. ' 
And  how  often  have  I  heard  parents  and  friends  say 
of  boys  and  girls  who  had  such  faults,  '  O,  they  are 
natural  to  childhood,  —  they  will  outgrow  them.* 
Sometimes  they  do,  but  oftener  they  regain  too 
deeply  rooted  in  the  character  for  any  future  efforts  to 
eradicate  entirely.  So,  my  boy,  while  I  grieve  that 
you  should  thus  early  in  life  have  had  such  a  hard 
lesson  to  learn,  I  still  think  it  will  be  a  lasting  benefit 
to  you." 

**  I  know  it  will,  Sir;  I  have  thought  so  much  of 
those  little  delays  and  neglects  that  prevented  me 
from  attending  to  my  duties  ;  they  seemed  so  little  at 
the  tiuie,  I  never  could  believe  they  would  do  me  so 
much  harm.  But  I  don't  see  as  I  was  to  blame  for 
being  deceived  by  the  boys,  was  I?  " 

*'  Xot  exactly  to  blame,  as  I  count  it  always  nobler 
to  trust  than  to  suspect ;  but  careless,  perhaps,  as 
I  think  both  Stephen  and  Herbert  warned  you  of 
them." 

*'  Yes,  I  see,  I  was  ready  enough  to  believe  in 
them  because  I  wanted  to,  I  suppose ;  I  had  such 
good  times  with  them,  they  were  so  spirited  and  up 
to  fun.  O,  dear."  Then  after  a  moment's  pause, 
he  asked,  ''  What  of  Hal  and  Court?" 


ECHOES    FKOM    THE    GUN    OF    18G1.  185 

*'  Both  doing  well.  Hal  was  heartily  ashamed  of 
his  part  when  he  saw  clearly  what  he  had  been  doing. 
He  was  blinded  at  the  time  by  the  indulgence  of  his 
revengeful  feelings.  Now  he  is  doing  his  best  to 
make  reparation,  and  wishes  to  see  you  as  soon  as 
you  are  able  to  have  an  interview  with  him.  As  for 
Court,  he  has  little  real  nobleness  of  character,  and 
less  strength.  He  is  one  of  those  unfortunate  boys 
wlio,  I  fear,  will  always  be  controlled  by  circum- 
stances. If  favorable  for  the  development  of  good, 
he  will  be  negatively  good ;  if  exposed  to  evil  in- 
fluence, he  will  be  positively  base.  He  is  under 
Steve's  influence  now,  and  is  doing  well.  Steve  feels 
that  he  did  wrong  not  to  watch  more  carefully  over 
you,  as  he  was  older  and  knew  the  boys'  character 
so  well." 

**  May  I  see  my  map,  father?" 

*'Do  you  think  it  best, — are  you  not  already 
quite  excited  enough  about  it  ?  " 

**  I  should  like  to  get  it  off  my  mind  and  have 
pleasant  things  to  think  of,  instead  of  imagining  how 
it  looks." 

Mr.  Grey  made  no  farther  objection,  but  brought 
the  map  to  Horace.  He  doubted  the  wisdom  of  the 
act,  however,  when  he  saw  his  cheeks  flusli  crimson, 
and  his  eyes  fill  with  tears,  which,  after  a  vain  effort  to 
repress,  he  suffered  to  flow  freely ;  then  dashing  his 
hand  across  his  face  he  said,   **  What  a  baby  I  am." 

''  Not  at  all,  Horace.     I  do  not  wonder  at  your 
16* 


186  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

feeling;  but  the  thing  is  over  now,  and  every  one 
knows  those  careless  words  were  not  written  by  your 
hand,  or  those  blots  made  by  you;  and  Mr.  Marsh 
intends  to  have  another  trial  when  you  are  well." 

* '  But  I  shall  never  feel  the  same  pleasure  in  doing 
another.  It  seems  as  if  I  traced  in  true  and  loyal 
thoughts,  with  every  line  I  made  on  this  map,  and  as 
if  the  resolutions  that  seemed  to  spring  unbidden  to 
my  mind  when  I  worked  upon  it  were  inscribed 
there.     I  can  never  have  such  feelinors  aojain. 

*' Perhaps  not,  my  dear  boy,  just  such  feelings; 
but  you  may  have  even  nobler  ones.  I  believe  our 
highest  resolves  and  noblest  impulses  to  right,  in 
youth  as  well  as  manhood,  are  born  of  disappointment 
and  trial  when  bravely  met  and  endured  as  this  has 
surely  been  by  you.  But  no  more  talking  now. 
You  are  weary  and  must  rest." 

From  the  date  of  this  conversation,  Horace's  im- 
provement was  much  more  rapid.  His  spirits  were 
better,  —  he  was  even  tolerably  good  natured,  —  and 
he  told  his  mother  his  greatest  trial  was  the  want 
of  enough  to  eat :  even  that  grievance  was  now  re- 
moved, as  permission  was  given  him  to  satisfy  his 
appetite  as  soon  as  he  was  able  to  exercise  in  the  open 
air. 

Upon  his  return  to  school  he  was  treated  with  a 
degree  of  respect  and  regard  by  his  schoolfellows, 
and  consideration  by  Mr.  Marsh,  that  was  very  grati- 
fying to  his  feelings.     In   the  second  trial  for  the 


ECHOES    FROM    THE    GUN    OF    18G1.  187 

prize  for  the  map  he  was  entirely  successful,  and  re- 
ceived a  handsomely-bound  edition  of  Longfellow's 
Poems. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

«<  LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS." 

I  PASS  over  more  than  a  year  in  the  life  of  ^Ir. 
Grey's  family,  with  only  a  slight  summary  of  the 
events  which  occurred  in  that  time. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grey  never  tired  in  their  loyal  zeal 
for  the  cause  of  their  country ;  and  though  they 
mourned  over  reverses  and  defeats,  and  sympathized 
with  those  whose  dear  ones  had  been  taken  from 
them,  yet  their  faith  in  the  ultimate  triumph  of  truth 
and  right  never  wavered,  and  their  labors  never 
slackened. 

Miss  St.-John  was  happier  in  her  life  of  hospital 
service  than  she  had  ever  been  in  her  life  before,  and 
found  in  it,  as  Mr.  Grey  had  predicted,  full  scope 
for  her  energies,  and  for  the  exercise  of  the  more 
than  ordinary  self-control  and  heroism  which  distin- 
guished her.  She  had  been  in  various  situations,  in 
temporary  hospitals  on  the  field,  in  cities,  and  on 
boats  on  the  Western  rivers,  because  she  was  one 
of  those  cool,  resolute  women  who  are  equal  to  al- 
most any  emergency,  and  hence  was  called  upon  to 
fill  difficult  positions.     The  amount  of  good  she  had 


ECHOES    FROM   THE    GUN   OF    18G1.  189 

done  In  binding  up  bodily  wounds,  and  pouring  in 
the  oil  and  wkie  of  consolation  and  hope  to  bruised 
and  wearied  spirits,  could  never  be  estimated.  At 
the  present  date  of  my  story  (May,  '62 ,)  she  was  in 
one  of  the  hospitals  in  Alexandria,  taking  a  partial 
rest  from  her  labors,  that  she  might  be  fit  to  meet 
the  next  loud  call  for  her  aid. 

Margaret,  too,  did  what  she  could ;  and  it  is  sur- 
prising how  much  a  school-girl  can  accomplish,  in 
addition  to  daily  duties  and  lessons  by  gathering  up 
and  using  the  odd  moments  of  time,  which  too  many 
consider  too  insigniiicant  to  be  employed  at  all. 
Such  forget  that 

*'  Little  drops  of  water, 
Little  grains  of  sand, 
Make  the  mighty  ocean 
And  the  beauteous  land." 

By  using  the  odd  moments,  Margaret  accom- 
plished a  good  deal  in  the  way  of  knitting,  sewing, 
and  making  fancy  articles  for  juvenile  fairs. 

As  for  St.  John,  he  was  the  true  martyr  of  the 
family  for  his  country's  service.  All  the  others 
found  pleasure  in  the  work  they  engaged  In,  not 
kOnly  in  the  work  Itself,  but  in  seeing  its  results  as 
labors  in  behalf  of  a  suffering  country.  He  had  no 
such  satisfaction.  He  disliked  his  occupation  of  clerk 
with  all  the  depth  of  decided  feelings  and  the  intens- 
ity of  a  strong  will,      bull,   he  licvcr  wavered   nur 


190  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN    OF    1861. 

faltered,  and  day  after  day  found  him  at  his  post. 
If  he  sometimes  sighed  heavily  for  his  loved  books, 
it  was  in  the  solitude  of  his  own  room,  a^d  none  of 
the  family  knew  the  sacrifice  he  was  making.  Could 
they  have  foreseen  the  extent  of  that  sacrifice,  it 
would  never  have  been  permitted.  The  spring  of 
'62  found  him  so  exhausted  from  the  winters  labor, 
that  he  was  obliged  to  keep  his  agreement  with  his 
father,  and  allow  him  to  find  a  substitute  for  him. 
Contrary  to  all  expectation,  release  from  work  did 
not  bring  with  it  restored  health.  Instead,  as  soon 
as  the  stimulus  of  necessary  exertion  was  removed, 
it  was  seen  how  feeble  he  really  was,  and  a  slight 
cough  gave  cause  for  the  most  serious  apprehensions 
in  regard  to  him. 

To  Horace  the  time  that  had  elapsed  since  we  left 
him  recovering  from  his  fever  had  been  a  period  of 
great  improvement.  He  had  given  himself  up  to 
the  duties  of  school  as  eagerly  as  heretofore  he  had 
entered  into  schemes  for  fun  and  enterprise,  though 
the  latter  were  by  no  means  neglected.  On  the  con- 
trary, firm  in  the  resolve  to  enter  the  army  as  soon 
as  his  parents  would  permit  him  to  do  so,  he  spent 
most  of  his  lawful  leisure  in  riding,  boating,  walking, 
and  climbing,  and  every  sport  which  would  be  most^^ 
likely  to  develop  his  muscles  and  strengthen  his^ 
body.  His  scljoolmates  had  so  little  sympathy  with 
the  excess  to  which  he  carried  his  hobby,  as  they 
termed  it,  that  they  gave  him  the  nickname  of  "  One 


ECHOES    FROM   THE   GUN    OF    1861.  191 

Idea,"  which  finally  degenerated   into   *' Old' Ida," 
with  a  marked  eniplia.sis  upon  the  la^t  syllable.     He 
could  afford  to  be  laughed  at,  however,  for  he  wa^ 
a  tall,  manly-looking  fellow,  with  a  breadth  of  chest 
to  match  his  height,   an   arm  whose  well-developed 
muscle  commanded    respect   in   all    athletic    sports, 
and  a  countenance  radiant  and  fresh  with  the  health 
and  vigor  breathed  in  with  the  free  air  of  heaven. 
£n  fact,  so  full  of  life  and  energy  was  he  that  his 
mother  laughingly  said  it  was  well  her  young  giant 
could  spend  some  of  his  superabundant  spirits  else- 
where than  in  the  house.     He  tormented  ^Margaret 
after  a  different  fashion  now  from  that  of  his  earlier 
years.     For  instance,  she  would    be   sitting   by  an 
open  window,  busy  at  her  work,  and,  before  any  sign 
had  been  given  of  the  approach  of  an  enemy,  she 
would  find  herself  gently  but  firmly  lifted  from  her 
seat,  and  carried  to  a  dark  room,  and  placed  upon  a 
lounge,  from  whence  she  was  released  only  on  de- 
claring herself  a  true  and  loyal  servant  of  her  conn- 
try.     Or  she  would  be  quietly  walking  in  the  garden, 
and  suddenly  strong  arms  would  uplift  her  to  some 
high  perch,  where  she  would   be  kept  till  she   had 
agreed  to  some  absurd  plan  of  Horace's,  which  he 
would  gravely  declare  was  essential   to  the  welfare 
of  the  good  cause.     Or,  again,  she  would,  if  walk- 
ing  by  the   river-side,    be   seized    as   a   Rebel    spy, 
placed  in  a  boat,  and  rowed   off  to   some  distance 
from  the  shore,  and  compelled  to  give  up  her  ''  pa- 


192  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

pers "  and  pocket-book,  which  were  at  once  pro- 
nounced "  contraband."  However,  she  never  failed 
to  find  them  untouched  in  her  own  room,  for  Horace 
was  honorable  even  in  his  mischief. 

But  it  was  the  strangest  mixture  of  the  ludicrous 
and  pathetic  —  the  pathetic  triumphing,  however, 
usually  —  to  see  his  attempts  to  be  quiet,  and  not^ 
jar  upon  St.  John's  sensitive  nerves,  after  he  was 
confined  to  the  house  from  his  sickness.  His  efforts  • 
to  step  quietly,  and  not  make  a  noise,  generally 
ended  in  stumbling  over  a  footstool  or  small  chair, 
knocking  books  off  tables,  or  upsetting  vases,  which 
disasters  he  would  remedy  with  various  grimaces  and 
expressions  of  so^tow,  and  then  seat  himself  near  St. 
John  with  a  tender,  wistful  longing  in  his  eyes,  as 
if  he  desired  to  give  to  him  some  of  his  own  over- 
flowing life.  He  would  try  to  tone  down  his  harsh, 
changing  voice,  and  talk  about  Thornton,  and  tell 
his  pale,  languid  brother  any  little  event  which  he 
thought  might  interest  him.  Then  he  would  start 
up,  and  say,  "No  wonder  you're  pale  breathing 
this  stifled  atmosphere ;  I  must  be  off  for  one  breath 
of  air."  Ah  !  he  knew  not  that  the  chill  wind  of 
May  which  was  life  to  him  was  torture  and  danger 
to  his  brother. 

But  I  leave  the  family  at  home,  with  their  labors^fc 
of  love  and  mercy,  their  absorbing  young  life,  and 
their  failing  strength,    their  hopes   and  fears,  their 
prayers  and  agonies,  to  return  to   our  soldier  boy, 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    1861.  193 

and  see  what  time  and  circumstances  have  done  for 
him. 

Thornton  had  gone  through  ahnost  every  variety 
of  experience  that  this  great  war  affords,  with  the 
exception  of  any  serious  wound  or  any  imprisonment 
more  tedious  and  ignoble  than  the  one  recounted 
some  chapters  back.  We  ah-eady  know  in  part  the 
horrors  and  terrors  of  his  first  battle,  and  we  have 
followed  him  in  his  inactive  camp  life,  his  foraging 
expeditions,  his  service  on  picket,  and  his  daring  and 
romantic  adventure  with  Lee  Waters.  Later  than 
that,  however,  commenced  the  real  hardships  of  his 
soldier's  career.  He  had  been  out  upon  expeditions 
w^hlch  required  long  forced  marches,  the  end  of  which 
was  quite  as  likely  to  be  marks  of  an  escaped  foe  as 
anything  else  ;  and  when  he,  with  others,  gladly  ac- 
cepted a  bed  of  mud  or  the  yielding  morass,  from 
utter  inability  to  seek  elsewhere  for  better  lodgment. 
He  had  due:  In  trenches  and  aided  in  erectlno^  breast- 
w^orks  as  cheerily  and  as  diligently  as  any.  He  had 
waded  through  mud  and  morass,  and  crossed  rivers, 
in  ordinary  times  deemed  impassable.  He  had 
known  what  it  was  when  the  supply  trains  were 
temporarily  cut  off,  to  suffer  from  hunger  and  to  long 
for  a  morsel  of  hard  tack,  as  the  traveller  longs  for 
•  water  in  the  desert.  He  had  been  cold,  ragged,  and 
dirty.  He  had  bandied  jokes  with  his  comrades  upon 
the  dignity  of  being  ranked  with  the  "Great  Un- 
washed," and  had  proposed  they  should  institute  a 


194  ECHOES   FROM   TIIE    GUN   OF    18G1. 

new  order  called  * '  The  Knights  of  the  Kagged 
Blues."  And  there  had  been  times,  too,  though 
these  were  comparatively  few,  when  the  joke  and 
laugh  would  not  pass  round,  and  he  and  others  bore 
silently,  but  unflinchingly,  the  hardships  to  which 
there  seemed  little  prospect  of  a  speedy  termination. 
For  soldiers  engaged  in  active  service  in  this  wonder- 
ful as  well  as  dreadful  war,  could  not  console  them- 
selves with  a  newspaper  paragraph,  which  prophesied 
that  this  or  that  victory  achieved,  the  decisive  battles 
of  the  war  would  be  over,  and  a  way  opened  to 
peace.  They  could  not  so  console  themselves,  for 
they  were  in  the  enemy's  country,  daily,  almost 
hourly,  meeting  fresh  proofs  of  the  force,  the  deter- 
mination, the  bravery  of  their  foe,  the  entire  sacrifice 
of  every  thing  to  the  cause  in  which  that  enemy  had 
engaged ;  and  they  knew  that  many  and  many  a 
bloody  battle  must  be  fought,  and  many  a  great  vic- 
tory gained,  before  his  proud  heart  could  be  subdued, 
and  that  Rebellion,  if  put  down  in  one  corner  of  this 
great  land,  would  spring  up  elsewhere  hydra-headed. 
Thornton  had  followed  McClellan  to  the  peninsula 
and  shared  with  others  in  all  the  hardships  that  march 
involved ,  and  he  had  been  engaged  In  the  seven  days' 
fight  which  ensued  upon  their  masterly  retreat  there- 
from. And,  though  feeling,  with  others,  the  bitter 
disappointment  of  the  result  of  that  campaign,  he 
was  not  discouraged  or  disheartened,  for  through  all 
the  thick  clouds  that  overshadowed  him  at  times,  he 


ECHOES   FROM  THE   GUN  OF    1861.  195 

knew  that  beyond  his  vision  the  sun  of  liberty  Wcas 
still  shining,  and  would  one  day  burst  in  full  and 
perfect  radiance  upon  his  view.  The  following  ex- 
tract from  a  letter,  from  the  colonel  of  his  regiment 
to  his  father,  will  give  an  idea  of  the  estimation  in 
which  he  was  held  by  his  superior  officer  :  — 

*'  Your  boy  is  a  great  credit  to  our  regiment ;  cool, 
unflinching,  in  the  hour  of  wildest  excitement ;  never 
rash  or  headlong,  his  example  has  been  of  infinite 
service  to  the  other  boys  in  his  company ;  not  alone 
in  the  respects  I  have  mentioned,  but  also  in  his  per- 
fectly proper  and  soldier-like  deference  to  his  superior 
officers.  At  first,  many  of  our  free  and  independent 
*  sovereigns  '  in  the  army  found  it  very  galling  to  con- 
form to  military  etiquette  and  subordination  to  those 
with  whom  they  had  formerly  been  '  hale  fellows  well 
met.'  But  Thornton  and  a  few  more  like  him,  have 
set  noble  examples,  and  thus  have  influenced  hun- 
dreds. I  can  hardly  tell  the  mischief  that  would 
have  ensued  if  he  and  others  of  his  social  position  in 
life  had  shown  any  distaste  to  conforming  to  rules  and 
obevinof  orders.  And  this  influence  has  been  jrained 
not  by  any  assumption  of  condescension,  but  simply 
by  doing  their  duty  as  an  entire  matter  of  course. 
Long  ago  I  would  have  recommended  your  boy  for 
promotion,  but  he  did  not  wish  it.  *  No,  sir,' he 
said  to  me,  *  let  me  earn  promotion  by  two  years 
service  in  the  ranks  ;  then,  if  my  superior  oflScers  are 
satisfied  that  I  deserve  it,  I  will  gladly  accept  it? 


196  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

The  two  years  are  out,  and  he  will  soon  receive  a 
lieutenant's  commission,  and  I  doubt  not  he  will  rise 
rapidly. 

* '  Another  respect  in  which  his  example  has  been  of 
great  service  in  his  company,  is  the  uniformly  fair 
and  generous  treatment  he  has  shown  towards  the 
Rebels  with  whom  the  fortunes  of  war  have  brought 
him  in  contact,  thereby  commanding  their  respect 
and  oblio^inof  them  to  alter  their  notions  of  the  Yan- 
kee  character.  It  is  true  the  necessities  of  our  situ- 
ation have  obliged  him  at  times  to  join  foraging 
expeditions,  but  I  have  been  told  his  influence  has 
always  been  exerted  to  protect  those  from  whom 
these  unwilling  contributions  have  been  levied,  from 
wanton  injury  and  insult.  In  conclusion,  my  dear 
sir,  let  me  say  that  this  war  has  made  a  man  of  your 
son  ;  a  consistent,  brave,  and  noble-hearted  man,  too  ; 
and,  that  living  or  dying  for  his  country,  you  have 
every  reason  to  be  proud  of  him ;  proud  with  a  true 
Christian  pride.  For  the  sake  of  our  long  friendship 
I  have  watched  him  narrowly,  and  I  am  conscious  he 
is  turning  the  circumstances  of  his  situation  to  the 
best  account.  I  wish  I  could  say  as  much  for  poor 
Ned  Howe,  who  is  falling  as  low  as  your  son  is  rising 
high  in  the  esteem  of  others.  It  is  probable  his  com- 
mission will  be  taken  from  him." 

When  this  letter  was  read  aloud  in  the  family 
circle,  it  was  received  by  Horace  with  noisy  demon- 
strations of  delight.     <*  Hurrah  for  my  brother,  the 


ECHOES   EIIOM   THE    GUN   OF    18G1.  197 

lieutenant  that  is  to  be  I  Good  for  old  Sleepy  Hol- 
low !  He  did  n't  sleep  in  those  old  days  for  nothing. 
When  he 's  promoted  I  '11  step  into  his  shoes  as 
private.  I  'm  as  big  and  strong  as  he  was  when  he 
left.  Say  yes,  father?  All  right,  silence  gives  con- 
sent. Here,  ^lag,  let's  have  a  waltz  in  honor  of 
my  brother,  the  lieutenant.  What,  crying?  the 
dickens,  how  solemn  you  all  look  !  I  should  think 
Thorny  had  been  sliot  instead  of  promoted.  Come, 
Gvsar,  let's  ventilate  our  feelings  in  the  woods, 
old  boy." 

And  off  started  boy  and  dog,  apparently  in  the 
highest  spirits ;  but  they  were  no  sooner  out  of 
sight  than  Horace  threw  himself  upon  the  grass, 
gave  a  deep  sigh,  which  ended  in  a  quick  sob,  and 
exclaimed,  *'  O,  dear,  what  a  fool  I  always  am,  to 
make  sucb  a  noise,  and  St.  John  so  sick.  I  hiow 
he  thinks  he  shall  never  see  Thornton  again,  and 
they  are  so  fond  of  each  other ! " 
17* 


CHAPTER  XX. 
**  Poor  Ned"  and  the  Babes  in  the  Wood. 

In  Camp,  June,  '63. 

About  this  matter  of  promotion,  which  elates  you 
so  much,  Horace,  I  must  confess  I  feel  not  a  little 
gratified  at  having  earned  my  honors,  much  more  so 
than  if  I  had  received  the  commission,  long  ago, 
simply  because  I  was  my  father's  son.  My  comrades 
in  arms  are  as  glad  for  me  as  I  am  for  myself, 
although  I  am  younger  than  many  of  them  who  are 
not  promoted.  It  is  pleasant,  too,  to  stay  on  in  the 
old  regiment.  My  predecessor  was  obliged  to  re- 
turn home  on  account  of  sickness,  and  I  just  step 
into  his  place.  My  heartiest  congratulations  have 
been  from  Holdfast,  now  corporal,  and  Pat. 

Holdfast,  w^ith  a  grip  of  the  hand  that  almost 
made  me  wince,  said,  **  I  've  only  one  fault  to  find 
with  them  that  gin  ye  yer  commission,  and  that  is, 
that  they  did  n't  turn  out  the  cap'n  neck  and  heels 
and  put  ye  in  his  place.  Thunder  and  lightnin'  ! 
but  I  call  it  a  pesky  shame  to  put  honest  men  under 
a  chap  who  does  n't  know  half  the  time  whether  he 's 


ECHOES  FKOM  THE  GUN  OF  1«61.      199 

on  his  head  or  his  heels.  I  'II  be  blamed  ef  I  don  t 
*bleve  he  'U  come  to  grief  yit,  and  that  of  the  worst 
sort,  at  the  hands  of  some  of  the  men.  They  hate 
him  tarnation  bad.  Now,  we  all  on  us  feel  respect 
and  so  on  for  ye,  and  would  go  to  the  devil  ef  ye 
bade  us,  an'  think  yc  had  a  reason  for  It." 

**  Thank  you  for  your  good  will  and  good  faith, 
Holdfast,"  said  I.  **I  shouldn't  like  to  test  It  In 
the  way  you  speak  of,  however.  I  'm  sorry  for  the 
captain.  He  means  to  do  right,  but  he  is  easily 
tempted.     At  all  events,  I  don't  want  his  place." 

'*  O  yis,  he  means  to  do  right  p'raps,  but  I  guess 
his  resolutions  is  the  kind  of  commodity  that  hell 's 
paved  with  ;  In  that  case  they  ain't  likely  to  do  him 
nor  us  a  tarnation  sight  of  good.  Mark  my  words, 
he's  got  bitter  enemies,  an'  he'll  git  come  up  with 
yit." 

**  Surely,  Holdfast,  if  you  know  of  any  plot  against 
him,  you  ought  to  make  It  known." 

**I  don'  know  any  plots  agin  him,  I  only  know 
he 's  all-fired  unpopular,  an'  I  know  there  's  boys  in 
our  company  that  as  lief  shoot  him  as  a  Rebel,  in 
fact  a  heap  sooner." 

*'  Can  nothing  be  done,  the  Idea  is  dreadful." 

' '  /  don'  know  how  you  kin  do  nothin'  w4ien  you 
don'  Tciiow  nothin'.  I  never  heerd  anybody  say  they  'd 
like  to  shoot  him,  though  I've  seen  'em  look  it  afore 
now.  Yer  an  oflScer  now,  yer  might  gin  him  some 
good  advice  ;  if  it  warn't  nothin'  but  pourin'  water  into 


200  ECHOES   FROM  .THE    GUN    OF    1861. 

a  Sieve,  'twould  n't  be  your  fault.  But  I  was  arter 
congratulating  you,  which  I  does  most  heartily  ;  ef 
ever  a  man  or  boy  desarved  promotion  you's  the  chap  ; 
beg  pardon,  lieutenant,  for  the  liberty  I  takes,  I  for- 
glts  old  times  Is  done." 

* '  Old  times  never  will  be  done  for  you  and  me  In 
this  world,  old  fellow,"  I  said,  heartily  grasping  his 
bio-  rouo-h  hand.  *'  ^Ye  '11  hold  fast  to  each  other  to 
the  death,  as  good  friends  and  true,  and  after  death 
too,  as  I  hope  and  believe." 

**  That's[||o,"  he  said,  with  a  queer  twinkle  in  his 
grey  eyes,  *'I'm  agreeable  ef  you  be.  I  allers 
knowed  you  was  one  of  the  true  quality.  Them's 
the  sort  I  'd  as  lief  take  off  my  hat  to  as  not  ef  I  kin 
remember  it ;  but  when  it  comes  to  yer  whipper- 
snlfFers,  ^nd  dandies,  and  monkeys,  I  just  'spise  'em." 
(Perhaps,  Horace,  you  can  define  whipper-sniffers, 
I  can't.) 

Just  then  up  comes  Pat  with  * '  the  top  of  the 
morning  to  yer  honor.  May  yees  live  a  thousand 
years  and  die  a  major-glneral  in  the  prime  of  yer 
life,  with  all  yer  forefathers  around  yees.  And  it 's 
meself  that  '11  say  I  knowed  yees  when  ye  was  nothin'  • 
but  a  private  that  rlz  by  ralson  of  yer  merits." 

<«  I  thanked  Pat  for  his  rather  Irish  wishes,  and  I 
cannot  help  being  amused  at  the  evident  pride  he 
takes  in  my  promotion,  apparently  considering  it  as 
a  personal  compliment." 

After  my  chat  with  Holdfast,  I  sought  an  opportu- 


ECHOES    FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861.  201 

nitv  to  speak  with  Ned  Howe.  I  found  him  alone 
in  his  quarters  one  evening,  his  head  resting  on  both 
hands  in  a  state  of  great  depression.  **  What  is 
the  matter,  Ned?"  I  askecf,  as  cheerily  as  possible. 
When  we  are  by  ourselves  we  dispense  with  formal- 
ities. 

*«  Matter  enough,  as  nobody  knows  better  than 
yourself,"  he  answered,  gruffly  enough ;  then  added, 
**  Oh,  Thornton,  the  devil's  got  me  soul  and  body  ; 
it's  no  use  contending." 

«<Not  so,  Ned;  *  never  too  late  to  mend,'  you 
know.  Put  your  will  to  the  work  of  reform  ;  strive, 
pray,  and  you  '11  find  you  have  no  devil  that  cannot 
be  exorcised." 

«*  I  have  tried  and  tried ;  as  for  praying,  it  don't 
come  natural  to  me." 

**  I  should  think  it  would  come  natural  to  any  one 
w^ho  feels  as  keenly  as  you  do  the  weakness  of  your 
own  resolutions.  You  have  everything  at  stake,  and 
more  than  that  Ned,  your  course  is  making  you  ex^ 
cessively  unpopular  in  the  company  ;  with  some  even 
to  a  dangerous  extent." 

«'  I  know  it,  said  he,  doggedly  ;  I  've  seen  it  in  their 
black  scowling  faces.     I  hope  the  next  fight  '11  end  it 

all." 

*«  But  think  of  your  mother,  Ned,"  I  said,  **  and 

of  your  friends  at  home." 

''  My  mother  !  "  he  answered  with  a  fearful  oath, 
"  if  she  had  been  a  true  mother  to  me  I  should  never 
have    had    this   fotal  haljit.     Who   encouraged  me 


202  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

to  sip  wine  after  dinner  and  laughed  at  my  first  tipsy 
speeches,  and  thought  it  was  pretty?  Who,  when  I 
was  older  and  carried  out  the  taste  she  had  fostered, 
and  came  home  drunk,  —  yes,  drunk  ;  it's  a  coarse 
word  to  use,  but  a  coarser  thing  to  do,  —  spurned  me 
from  her  with  disgust,  and  was  too  much  absorbed 
in  her  round  of  pleasures  to  try  and  win  me  back  to 
right?" 

*'  Still,  you  had  every  inducement  to  reform  when 
you  joined  the  army,  and  were  placed  in  such  a  re- 
sponsible situation,  and  I  don't  think  it  quite  right 
when  a  man  is  of  age  to  judge  between  good  and 
evil,  to  charge  one's  faults  or  follies  upon  others." 

**Xo  it  isn't  right,  I  suppose,  but  I  have  bitter 
feelings  towards  my  mother ;  she  seems  so  willing  I 
should  go  down,  down.  To  be  sure,  there's  poor 
little  Lina,  it 's  hard  for  her." 

*'  For  your  sister's  sake,  then  Xed,  for  your  coun- 
try's sake,  for  the  sake  of  all  that  is  best  and  noblest 
in  your  nature,  do  try  and  give  up  this  habit." 

'*  I'm  bound  hand  and  foot,  a  perfect  slave  to  the 
habit,  as  you  call  it,  to  the  demon,  as  I  call  it.  1 
haven't  your  strength  of  mind.  You  could  go  to  the 
stake  like  the  martyrs  of  old,  while  I  should  recant 
again  and  again.  I'm  not  of  the  stuff  to  resist 
temptation  as  you  do,  and  make  it  a  means  of  im- 
provement. Xo,  I  say  again,  I  hope  the  next  fight 
—  and  it'll  be  a  tough  one  —  will  finish  me.  I'm 
tired  of  living.  A  good  thing  for  you,  you'll  get 
my  place  ;   and  you'll  do  it  honor,  too." 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    1861.  203 

Poor,  poor  Xed  ;  he  looked  so  despairing  that  I 
almost  felt  as  If  his  words  were  prophetic.  I  found 
he  did  n't  wish  to  talk  any  more,  so  I  left  him  with  a 
cordial  gra^p  of  the  hand  and  the  words,  **  do  try 
hard,  for  Lina's  sake." 

It  is  dreadful  to  see  him  so  hopeless,  and  dreadful 
to  hear  him  blame  his  mother  for  his  vice.  Yet  who 
knows  how  far  he  is  responsible  for  faults  that  arise 
from  early  peglect.  I  can't  judge  ;  only  this  I  know, 
conscience  speaks  ever,  if  parents  do  not.  God  has 
given  us  one  sure  guide,  if  we  will  heed  it. 

You  ask  me  about  the  other  boys,  Horace,  how  they 
get  on,  &c.  Dub  and  Brag  are  the  two  that  have 
chan2:ed  the  most.  There 's  not  a  trace  of  the  moth- 
er's  boy  now  in  Dub,  except  such  traces  of  truth  and 
honor  and  bravery  that  true  mothers  inspire  in  their 
boys'  hearts ;  and  Mrs.  Winslow's  soothing  syrup  is 
at  a  discount.  He  can  go  unwashed  and  uncombed 
with  as  good  a  grace  as  the  best,  drop  down  in  tlue 
mud  for  a  night's  lodging,  and  joke  about  our  old 
order  as  heartily  as  any  of  us ;  and  he 's  all  pluck 
and  nerve. 

As  for  Brag,  though  sometimes  a  little  nervous, 
he  never  shrinks  from  any  duty,  however  exposed, 
and  now  acts  his  courage,  whereas  before  he  talked 
it.  His  place  is  more  than  filled,  though,  by  a  cou- 
ple of  recruits  that  have  been  in  service  only  a  few 
months.  These  boys,  a  couple  of  big  six-footers, 
with  bone  and  muscle  enough  to  beat  a  score  of  us, 


204  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    18G1. 

are  the  most  arrant  cowards  that  ever  tried  to  pull  a 
trigger.  They  get  well  tormented,  you  may  be  sure, 
and  Pat  gave  them  a  name  that  stuck  to  them  till 
some  one  found  another.  We  were  enoaaed  one 
day  in  a  skirmish  with  an  unseen  foe,  —  that  is,  we 
were  on  a  plain  and  the  Eebs  In  a  wood  near  by,  and 
the  shots  they  sent  out  to  us  were  rather  more  sure 
of  a  mark  than  ours,  fired  at  hap-hazard.  One  of 
these  brave  boys  had  a  trick  of  clapping  his  cartridge- 
box  up  to  the  side  of  his  head  every  time  a  bullet 
whizzed  by,  and  always  on  the  wrong  side.  Pres- 
ently a  bullet  came  that  nearly  took  off  a  bit  of  his 
ear.  Such  a  howl  as  he  set  up,  his  friend  joining  in, 
and  they  both  commenced  -a  series  of  hops  unlike 
any  figure  I  ever  saw  performed  in  the  dancing-hall 
or  on  the  battle-field. 

«*  Me  faith,"  said  Pat,  *'  do  ye  see  the  big  grass- 
hoppers out  yonder?  Barring  there's  no  grass  here, 
it"  makes  one  think  of  the  w^arrum  summer  time,  it 
does." 

This  occurred  some  weeks  ago,  and  the  name 
clung  to  those  valiant  youths  till  Jim  gave  them 
another.  Poor  Jim,  he  seldom  gets  oflP  any  witti- 
cisms nowadays,  for  his  wound  injured  his  health 
seriously.  He  ought  to  be  at  home  under  treatment, 
but  he  says  he  would  rather  live  two  years  for  his 
country  than  forty  for  himself.  But  I  was  to  tell 
you  of  the  second  adventure  of  our  *'  grasshoppers." 
This  time  the  enemy  were  opposite  us  on  ay:ising 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    1861.  205 

ground,  while  we  were  upon  a  flat,  and  a  small  river 
between.  Tiiey  had  so  manifest  an  ad^mtage  over 
us  that  we  were  ordered  to  lie  down  and  do  what  we 
could  in  the  way  of  returning  their  deadly  attentions 
in  that  position.  It  w^as  near  dark,  and  we  soon 
crot  tired  of  fi^htinf]:  in  that  fashion,  and  beo^^ed  to 
be  allowed  *'  to  give  it  to  'em"  once  upon  our  feet. 
So,  loading,  we  rose  with  a  shout  that  might  of  itself 
have  frightened  a  common  foe,  so  shrilly  did  it  ring 
out  upon  the  air.  If  the  cry  did  n't  frighten  them 
our  unexpected  shot  did,  and  we  were  able  to  repeat 
it  before  they  got  well  over  their  astonishment.  AVe 
outnumbered  them,  and  after  the  proof  we  had  given 
of  our  intentions  they  withdrew,  with  the  design,  we 
thought,  of  inducing  us  to  cross  the  river  and  follow 
them.  We  suspected  they  wanted  to  get  us  into  an 
ambush,  as  we  knew  a  large  body  of  their  forces  was 
encamped  not  far  distant,  —  so  we  remained  where  we 
were,  keeping  close  watch  lest  we  should  be  surprised, 
intending  to  rejoin  our  regiment  in  the  morning. 
We  missed  our  "  grasshoppers,"  and  upon  inquiring 
one  of  the  men  said  he  had  seen  them  making  tracks 
for  the  wood  behind  us  soon  after  we  had  risen  to  our 
feet. 

**  O  ho  ! "  said  Jim ;  ''  Babes  in  the  Wood,  are 
they?  Wonder  if  the  robins  will  cover  the  dears 
with  leaves,  to  keep  them  warm?  Come,  Thorn, 
it 's  our  duty  to  look  them  up." 

We  went  into  the  wood,  and  soon  found  them,  — 
18 


206  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    18G1. 

one  sitting  upon  the  ground  holding  the  head  of  his 
comrade,  and  both  of  them  chattering  with  cold,  or 
fear,  or  both. 

They  took  us  for  the  enemy,  and  cried  for  mercy 
in  the  most  abject  tones.  Jim  proposed  to  me,  in  a 
whisper,  that  we  should  follow  out  the  idea,  and  pre- 
tend to  take  them  prisoners. 

*'  No,"  said  I.  **  In  the  first  place  you  might 
frighten  the  fools  to  death ;  in  the  second,  I  've  no 
patience  to  joke  with  such  craven-hearted  creatures." 

So  I  stepped  up  to  them  and  asked  them  sternly 
what  they  were  doing  there,  while  we  had  been 
fighting. 

<*  O,"  said  the  one  who  was  sitting  down,  **  that's 
you,  is  it.  Private  Grey?  John,  here,  has  had  an 
awful  wound,  and  I  came  with  him  to  stop  the  bleed- 
ing. He  's  been  awful  faint,  John  has,  and  I  thought 
he  was  gone  once." 

*'  Let  me  see- it." 

With  much  preliminary  caution,  and,  I  fancy, 
some  inward  misgiving,  the  man  unbound  a  handker- 
chief from  the  arm  of  his  still  groaning  comrade. 

*«  Pooh,"  said  Jim;  *' a  mere  scratch — a  flesh- 
wound,  which  a  couple  of " 

*'  O,  it  wasn't  the  wound  alone  ;  it  was  the  effect 
of  the  bleeding.  He  told  me  he  had  been  subject  to 
fits  from  an  infant,  brought  on  by  the  loss  of  blood." 

"  Haw,  haw,  haw  !  "  roared  Jim  ;  **  I. don't  doubt 
it.  Fits,  indeed!  Yes,  that's  the  plain  truth;  no- 
body doubts  that  story." 


ECHOES   FROM  THE   GUN  OF   18G1.  207 

<*  Come,"  said  I,  angrily,  **  we  've  had  enough  of 
this  nonsense  ;  come  with  us." 

t  *  *  Are  —  they  —  all  —  gone, —  are  you  quite  sure  ?" 
asked  the  man'  of  fits. 

*  *  AVho  gone,  —  the  Rebs  or  our  fellows  ?  "  inquired 
Jim. 

**  Oh,  the  Rebels.  You  didn't  see  em  as  we 
did,  — there  was  a  lot  on  'em." 

*' Yes,  they're  gone  to  bring  up  reinforcements, 
probably ;  about  time  for  them  to  be  back.  I 
don't  know  but  our  boys  have  gone  too.  I  left 
them  debating  the  matter,"  said  Jim,  with  unblush- 
ing effrontery. 

They  both  found  their  feet  with  astonishing  celer- 
ity, and  exclaimed  in  concert,  **  Gone,  and  left  us  to 
our  fate ! " 

»*  Why  not?"  said  Jim  ;  "if  they  have  gone,  and 
I  don't  say  as  they  have,  of  course  they  thought  you 
would  keep  guard,  and  let  us  know  if  the  enemy  was 
coming." 

"When  we  rejoined  our  Company  many  were  the 
inquiries  made  as  to  the  nature  of  the  wounds  the 
missing  men  had  received,  and  Jim's  account  w^as 
listened  to  with  roars  of  laughter. 

**  The  Babes  in  the  Wood,  boys,  —  the  latest  edi- 
tion issued  ;  tender,  innocent  creatures.  I  commend 
them  to  your  care,  as  the  robins  are  all  asleep, 
particularly  this  unfortunate  babe,  who  is  subject  to 
fits  ;  speak  gently  to  him,  nurse  him  tenderly." 


208  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

Jim  was  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  our  Cap- 
tain, who  was  perfectly  sober,  but  in  an  exceedingly 
irritable  mood.  "  What's  all  this  noise,  boys?  ^  I 
should  think  you  had  better  be  sleeping ;  you  'U  have 
to  fight  to-morrow." 

Jim  related  the  adventure  again  in  his  comical  way, 
but  the  Captain  swore  furiously  if  ever  such  a  thing 
happened  again  the  men  should  be  reported  as  desert- 
ers. And  so  the  aftair  ended,  only  they  still  go  by 
the  name  of  the  Babes  in  the  Wood,  and  are  obliged 
to. listen  to  all  sorts  of  changes  rung  upon  the  story. 
Perhaps  this  seems  flat  to  you,  —  it  is  ludicrous 
enough  to  us,  with  all  the  accompaniments  of  comical 
looks  and  the  aspect  of  the  men  when  they  receive 
the  hits,  which  come  hard  sometimes.  They  try  to 
keep  it  off,  for  they  do  not  dare  to  resent  it ;  but,  as 
Jim  says,  they  laugh  the  wrong  side  of  the  mouth. 
But  cowards  and  sneaks  are,  I  am  happy  to  say,  the 
exception.  Aside  from  the  benefit  this  experience  of 
a  soldier's  life  in  the  rank  and  file  has  been  to  me,  I 
shall  always  feel  more  kindly  towards  my  fellow-men 
in  consequence  of  it.  I  told  you  before  that  shams 
of  any  sort  don't  go  down  in  qamp  life.  You  see 
men  as  they  are  when  the  restraints  of  home  and 
society  are  removed,  and  they  sit  with  you  by  the 
camp  fii'e  or  join  you  on  the  long  march.  And  you 
often  find  among  those  from  whom  you  would  least 
expect  it,  traits  of  self-denial  and  nobleness  which 
gladdens  your  heart  and  makes  you  feel  more  than 


ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN    OF    18G1.  209 

ever  that  goodness  and  greatness  are  not  confined  to 
any  favored  portion  of  society.  These  acts,  too,  are 
such  as  will  never  be  blazoned  abroad,  although  they 
will  be  forever  enshrined  in  the  hearts  of  their  com- 
rades. To  everything  in  life  there  is  a  reverse  side, 
and  brutality,  coarseness,  and  profanity  are  found  also, 
but  I  believe  in  less  proportion  than  the  redeeming 
traits. 

But  I  have  wandered  away  from  my  subject,,  which 
was  to  tell  you  of  my  companions  in  arms.  This 
leaf  in  my  journal  is  like  some  of  the  figures  I  learned 
at  dancing  school,  where  various  evolutions  to  the 
right,  left,  and  front,  bring  you  back  to  the  point 
whence  you  started.  I  am  back  now  to  Lee  Waters, 
of  whom  I  know  you  wish  to  hear.  He  has  changed 
somewhat  since  you  last  met  him  in  his  romantic  ad- 
venture with  Emily.  He  is  in  better  health,  more 
cheerful,  and  a  little  less  vindictive  than  of  old, 
though  still  far  enough  from  being  what  I  call  a 
model  soldier.  Model  he  is  for  bravery  and  endur- 
ance, but  he  still  fights  the  Kebels  more  as  personal 
enemies  than  as  enemies  of  his  country. 

News  has  just  been  received  that  the  enemy  are  In 
considerable  force  in  Pennsylvania,  and  we  are  ready 
for  marching  at  an  hour's  notice.  From  all  we  can 
gather  this  m  not  a  mere  raid  to  seize  supplies,  &c.  ; 
but  is  intended  to  be  a  great  victory  over  us  upon  our 
own  soil.  VCe  are  ready,  whatever  comes ;  and  I, 
18* 


210  ECHOES   FROM  THE   GUN   OF   1861. 

for  one,  feel  a  firm  conviction  that  we  are  to  conquer 
the  Eebels  this  time,  —  with  heavy  loss  it  may  be,  but 
Victory,  Victory  is  our  watchword. 

If  I  should  fall,  remember,  Horace,  that  I  have 
never  for  one  moment  regretted  that  I  enlisted,  and 
that  I  die  willingly  for  my  country,  nay  gladly,  if  the 
sacrifice  is  needed.  And  as  I  feel  so  feel  thousands 
of  others  in  our  army.  If  it  does  sound  like  self- 
glbrification  (though  I  speak  not  for  myself,  I  know, 
but  as  if  I  stood  apart) ,  I  say,  All  honor  to  the  rank 
and  file  of  the  armies  of  the  United  States  !  The 
country  will  never  know  how  many  thousands  of 
brave,  untitled  martyrs  have  suffered  and  died  that 
she  mio-ht  live,  and  that  forever  — 


The  star-spangled  banner  triumphant  shall  wave, 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave.' 


But  God  knows,  and  he  will  reward  each  one  accord- 
ing to  his  deeds,  be  he  high  or  low  private,  master  or 
servant. 

Good  night,  Horace.  I  have  a  strange  feeling 
that  I  shall  perhaps  never  take  pen  in  hand  more,  and 
yet  I  do  not  feel  that  I  shall  die  yet.  If  I  do,  still 
remember  I  die  willingly. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

GETTYSBUEG   AND   THE    HOSPITAL. 

You  all  know  how  bravely  the  battle  of  Gettys- 
burg was  fought,  and  that  it  resulted  in  a  total  rout 
of  the  self-confident  Rebels,  and  a  complete  victory 
for  our  troops,  and  that  simultaneously  with  the 
shouts  of  victory  went  up  the  wail  of  mourning  for 
the  loved  and  slain  upon  the  battle-field. 

The  regiment  to  which  Thornton  belonged  bravely 
did  their  share  of  the  three  days'  fighting,  and  came 
out  of  the  conflict  with  the  loss  of  nearly  one  half  in 
killed  and  wounded.  Among  the  former  were  the 
Captain,  Corporal  Trim,  Pat,  and  Brag.  Among 
the  latter  Thornton  and  Lee  Waters,  Holdfast  and 
Dub.  There  were  dark  rumors  afloat  that  the  Cap- 
tain's death  was  caused  by  a  bullet  from  one  of  his 
own  men,  but  there  had  been  no  time  for  investiga- 
tion. Corporal  Trim  had  escaped  wonderfully,  for 
he  was  brave  as  a  lion,  till  the  close  of  the  thh'd  day, 
when  he  fell,  shot  through  the  heart  with  a  bullet. 
Pat  had  risked  and  lost  his  life  in  an  excited  rush 
after  a  tall  Rebel,  against  whom  he  had  been  observed 


212  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

to  have  an  especial  spite.  His  earnestness  had  carried 
him  too  far  into  the  enemy's  ranks,  and  he  had  fallen 
pierced  through  and  through  with  bullets.  Brag  had 
done  nobly,  and  had  proved  himself  a  true  hero  at 
last ;  for  he  had  rushed  to  the  aid  of  the  color-bearer, 
who  was  in- imminent  danger,  and  had  been  shot  down 
in  defence  of  the  flag  of  his  country. 

Thornton  had  received  a  wound  in  his  fixce  which 
had  bled  profusely,  and  which  promised  to  disfigure 
his  mouth  forever.  In  addition  to  that,  he  had  a 
severe  wound  in  his  thigh,  a  slighter  one  in  his  right 
side,  and  his  right  leg  had  been  trampled  upon  and 
severely  bruised,  for  he  had  lain  long  upon  the  field 
unconscious  of  all  that  was  transpiring  around  him. 

Lee  Waters  and  Holdfast  were  also  badly,  but  not 
dangerously  wounded  ;  and  Dub  was  positively  jubi- 
lant over  the  loss  of  his  left  arm.  Poor  fellow,  he 
thought  the  glory  of  it  was  more  than  a  compensa- 
tion for  his  loss. 

When  Thornton  recovered  his  senses  he  found  his 
Aunt  Esther  bending  over  him,  with  a  kindly  look 
upon  her  face  and  a  moisture  in  her  eyes  such  as  he 
had  never  seen  there  before.  Faint  and  bewildered, 
he  murmured,  "  Thank  God,  I  am  at  home.  Where 
is  mother  ?  "  and  then  closed  his  eyes  again  in  exhaus- 
tion. He  was  in  one  of  the  many  quickly  improvised 
hospitals  in  Gettysburg,  and  his  Aunt  Esther  had 
come  at  once  to  the  battle-ground  to  look  after  him ; 
and  throuoh  her  exertions  he  had  been  discovered 


ECHOES  FROM   THE   GUN   OF    1861.  213 

among  the  slain  and  wounded.  For  a  few  days 
Thornton's  life  trembled  in  the  balance,  and  his  father 
and  mother  and  Miss  St.  John  watched  over  him 
with  unceasing  anxiety.  At  the  expiration  of  that 
time  the  surgeon  said  he  would  live  if  nothing  unfor- 
seen  occurred  to  retard  his  recovery,  but  that  it 
would  be  many  weeks  before  he  could  go  into  service 
again.  As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  danger  Mrs.  Grey 
returned  home  to  St.  John,  whose  failing  health  de- 
manded all  her  lovinor  care.  Previous  to  doinir  so, 
however,  she  had  a  conversation  with  Thornton  about 
his  brother.  Up  to  this  time,  and  while  there  had 
been  a  shadow  of  hope  that  he  might  recover,  Thorn- 
ton had  been  kept  in  ignorance  of  his  real  condition. 
It  was  now  thought  best  to  prepare  him  for  the  shock 
of  meeting  St.  John.  When  his  mother  told  him 
she  must  go  home,  Thornton  asked  :  **  Must  you 
leave  me,  mother?  I  think  I  can  travel  in  a  few 
days,  and  I  shall  miss  you  so  much,  though,  to  be 
sure,  Aunt  Esther  is  a  capital  nurse." 

*'  Yes,  I  must  go,  my  son ;  St.  John  needs  me." 
**Trhat  is  the  matter  with  St.  John,  mother?     I 
know  he  is  n't  well,  but  you  seem  so  anxious  when- 
ever you  speak  of  him  ;    is  it  anything  more  than 
debility  caused  by  over-exertion  ?  " 

*'  We  hoped  it  was  nothing  more  for  a  long  time, 
but  now  his  symptoms  only  too  clearly  indicate  the 
steady  progress  of  a  fatal  disease.  I  tell  you  this, 
Thornton,  for, I  think  you  will  bear  it  bravely,  and 


214  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    1861. 

not  suffer  the  sad  intelligence  to  injure  you  or  retard 
your  recovery." 

*'  Oh,  mother,  can  it  be?"  was  all  Thornton  could 
say  for  some  moments,  then  he  added,  "  why  could 
not  I  have  been  taken  and  he  spared  ?  " 

*'  Because,"  said  Mrst  Grey,  with  tearful  eyes  and 
trembling   lips,   *'  such  was  not   God's  will.     You 

must  fill  a  double  place  when when  he  is  gone. 

When  you  return  to  us  you  will,  I  know,  strive  to 
be  cheerful ;  he  will  wish  it." 

"Does  he  know,  is  he  ready  and  willing?  Oh, 
mother,  it  cannot  be.  There  was  so  much  he  had 
planned  to  do ;  he  was  so  earnest  in  all  he  ever 
undertook,  earnest  and  faithful !  I  take  St.  John's 
place  to  you  ?  never ;  I  am  hardly  worthy  to  be  his 
brother." 

''  I  do  not  wonder  that  you  feel  as  you  do,  Thorny. 
I  have  often  felt  rebuked  in  his  presence.  I  think  he 
is  aware  of  his  situation ;  but  he  has  n't  seemed  dis- 
posed to  talk  of  himself.  I  fear  he  has  had  a  hard 
struggle.  When  I  return  to  him  he  will  no  doubt 
talk  freely  to  me.  Do  not  dwell  too  sadly  upon  this 
impending  soitow.  God  doeth  all  things  well,  and 
out  of  great  peril  He  has  saved  you  to  comfort  us." 

**  I  was  going  to  ask  a  favor  of  you,  mother,  but 
now  I  think  I  ought  not." 

*«  Ask  it,  my  boy,  and  I  will  freely  grant  it,  if  it 
is  in  my  power." 

*'  I  wanted  to  ask  if  you  would  invite  Holdfast 


ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    18G1.  215 

and  Lee  Waters  to  pass  a  few  weeks  with  us  till 
they  are  quite  fit  for  service.  Lee  ha^  no  friends  to 
whom  he  can  go,  and  Holdfast  is  too  far  from  his  to 
go  home.  But  it  is  not  right  to  trouble  you  now, 
that  you  have  St.  John  to  take  care  of." 

Mrs.  Grey  thought  a  few  moments  and  then  an- 
swered, *'  I  think  it  will  be  a  good  thing  for  us  all. 
It  will  interest  St.  John,  too.  I  know  nothing  would 
give  him  more  pleasure.  We  have  pleasant  rooms, 
good  servants,  and  everything  needed  to  make  them 
comfortable.  Your  father  will  be  glad  to  have  them 
come.  By  all  means  ask  them,  Thorny.  If  St. 
John  becomes  alarmingly  sick,  it  will  only  be  need- 
ful to  keep  his  rooms  quiet." 

'<But,  mother!" 

«*  What  is  it,  now,  Thorny?" 

**  Will  you  ask  them?  Lee  is  very  proud  and 
sensitive.  I  am  afraid  I  should  n't  ask  him  in  the 
right  way,  and  as  for  Holdfast,  it  would  please  him 
so  much  to  have  you  invite  him." 

**  With  pleasure,  I  will  do  it  at  once." 

Mrs.  Grey  passed  out  of  the  room,  and  seeking 
her  husband,  told  him  of  Thornton's  wishes,  and  her 
readiness  to  gratify  them,  adding,  she  was  sure  of 
his  approval. 

**  Certainly,  if  you  wish  it;  nothing  could  be 
more  gratifying  to  me.  I  have  thought  of  it,  but  I 
did  not  know  but  it  would  be  too  much  for  you.  My 
heart  has  ached  many  a  time  for  poor  homeless  fel- 


216  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    18G1. 

lows.  The  least  we  can  do  Is  to  open  our  doors  to 
them." 

When  Mrs.  Grey,  taking  in  her  own,  Lee's  hot, 
wasted  hand,  said  gently  and  tenderly,  in  sweet 
motherly  tones,  *'  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you,  my 
dear  young  friend,"  he  looked  up  amazed,  and  said, 
*  *  a  favor  to  ask  of  me  ?  I  do  not  know  how  I  can 
do  anything  for  you,  but  you  have  only  to  ask  it;  I 
should  be  most  ungrateful  to  refuse  you  an}i;hing." 

**  Then  come  home  with  Thornton  for  a  rest,  and 
remain  till  you  are  fit  to  go  to  the  army  again.  My 
son  tells  me  you  have  a  friend  not  far  from  us.  It 
will  be  very  gratifying  to  her  to  be  able  to  visit  you 
often.  I  have  an  invalid  son  whose  whole  heart  is 
enlisted  for  our  soldiers.  It  will  beguile  many  a 
weary  hour  for  him  if  you  will  come." 

Lee  flushed  scarlet,  and  said,  '*  I  cannot  grant 
you  a  favor,  for  it  is  all  on  my  side,  but  I  will  thank- 
fully go  to  your  home.  I  do  not  deserve  it,  though. 
I  am  not  like  Thornton." 

*  *  If  you  consent  we  will  not  talk  about  the  mat- 
ter, or  decide  whose  obligation  is  the  greater.  I 
must  gladden  Thornton  by  telling  him  you  will  go  ; 
he  wishes  it  so  much." 

As  Mrs.  Grey  approached  the  cot  upon  which 
Holdfast  lay,  the  surgeon  was  just  leaving  him.  He 
greeted  Mrs.  Grey  with  the  words,  «*  I  am  glad  to 
gee  you.  I  hope  you  bring  an  antidote  for  the  un- 
welcome sentence  I  have  just  passed  upon  our  sturdy 
friend." 


ECHOES  FROM  THE   GUN  OF   1861.  217 

**  Yes,  marm,"  said  Holdfast,  with  an  odd  grim- 
ace, "I  need  some  sort 'o  sugar-plums  arter  bein* 
told  I  couldn't  use  this  pesky  arm  for  six  weeks. 
What 's  a  feller  to  do  idling  about  all  that  time  ?  " 

**  I've  come  just  in  season  then  to  tell  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Grey,  kindly,  shaking  his  left  hand  (the  right 
arm  was  the  one  disabled) . 

**  Go  with  my  son  and  breathe  the  pure  air  of  our 
country  home.  It  will  be  next  to  the  pine  woods  in 
Maine.  Thornton  wishes  it  very  much,  and  ^Ir, 
Grey  and  myself  also.  My  youngest  son  will  hard- 
ly leave  you  a  moment's  peace,  so  anxious  will  he 
be  to  hear  your  fortunes  in  war.  It  will  gratify  us 
all  if  you  will  consent." 

<*  Waall,  I  never  heerd  the  like  of  this;  you 
really  want  me  to  go  to  your  home ;  me,  such  a 
rough-spoken  chap  's  I  be  ?  Thunder  and  lightnin ' ! 
guess  I  'm  delirious." 

*'  I  guess  not,"  said  Mrs.  Grey  with  a  smile,  softly 
laying  her  hand  upon  his  forehead.  **  No,  not  a  bit ; 
shall  I  tell  Thorny  you  '11  come  ?  He  has  quite  set 
his  heart  upon  It." 

<'  Shall  I  go  to  paradise  when  I  git  'a  chance,  or 
stay  out  in  the  cold  and  dark  ?  that 's  'bout  it ;  thank 
ye,  marm.  Guess  I  '11  go  to  paradise,  seein'  's  your 
so  good 's  to  ax  me.  "VYaall,  I  allers  did  think 
Thornton  Grey  must  'a  had  a  powerful  good  bringin' 
up,  and  now  I's  sure  on  it."  Then  changing  his 
tone  of  astonishment  to  one  of  deep  feeling,  and 
19 


218  ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN  OF   1861. 

wiping  away  some  suspicious  moisture  with  the  back 
of  his  hand,  he  said,  *'  God  bless  you,  marm,  for  the 
thought.  I  shall  be  a  better  man  all  my  days  for 
your  goodness." 

*'  Thank  you,  cordially,  for  consenting  to  come. 
Horace  will  try  and  make  it  as  pleasant  to  you  as 
possible,  I  'know,  and  we  shall  feel  proud  to  have 
three  of  the  heroes  of  Gettysburg  at  once  under  our 
roof." 

Holdfast  followed  ]\Irs.  Grey  as  long  as  he  could 
with  his  eyes,  and  then  muttered  to  himself,  "  Waall, 
I  never;  makin'  a  favor  on  it,  too,  to  herself  and 
family.  Hope  't  ain't  a  dream  ;  allers  thought  should 
like  ter  know  ef  the  gentry  had  hearts  like  common 
folks.     Some  on  'em  has,  that 's  so." 

*' Aunt  Esther,"  said  Thornton,  one  day,  to  that 
lady,  after  she  had  bound  up  his  wounds,  and  care- 
fully adjusted  his  pillow  to  suit  him,  **  I  'm  getting 
jealous." 

*'  Of  whom,  pray?"  was  the  response. 

*'  That 's  just  what  I  want  you  to  tell  me,  who  the 
chap  is  J  you  are  so  devoted  to  the  other  side  of  the 
room.  Such  care  as  he  gets ;  such  nice  things  as 
you  take  him ;  such  talks  as  you  have  with  him ; 
such  words  of  comfort  as  you  read  to  him.  If  I 
did  n't  know  you  on  your  own  telling  for  a  '  cross- 
grained  old  maid,'  I  should  think  you  had  some 
wounded  colonel,  of  suitable  years,  whose  gallant 
deeds  and  wounds,  *  poor  dumb  mouths,'  had  at  last 
touched  your  hardest  of  hard  hearts  !  " 


ECHOES   FROM   THE    GXTS   OF    1861.  219 

**  Will  nothing  ever  take  the  nonsense  out  of  you, 
Thornton  Grey?"  replied  his  aunt,  trying  to  look 
severe,  and  evidently  confused  at  this  question. 

*'  It 's  only  a  boy,  — younger  than  you  are." 

^^  It  is  n't  an  it.  I  suppose  you  meant  to  say  he  '« 
only  a  boy." 

*'  Well,  suppose  I  did?" 

**  Suppose  you  tell  me  his  name,  his  regiment,  &c. 
&c.  I  feel  a  strong  interest  in  all  our  boys,  and  I 
feel  an  especial  interest  in  any  one  who  interests  my 
aunt  so  deeply." 

**  His  name  is  Thomas  Jefferson  Peyton  ;  his  regi- 
ment, &c.  I  have  n't  asked.  He  -is  suiFcring,  and 
has  no  friends,  to  look  after  him.  Any  more  ques- 
tions, Mr.  Inquisitive?" 

**Yes,  no;  I  reckon  father '11  find  out  anything 
more  I  want  to  know." 

*«  Your  father!  you  needn't  trouble  yourself  to 
ask  him.     Peyton  is  a  Virginian,  and  a Rebel." 

* '  Whew-ew-ew  !  that's  a  joke.  *  Never,  if  I 
know  my  own  heart,  ^vill  I  give  aid  or  succor  to  a 
Rebel.'  I  quote  from  memory;  do  I  quote  cor- 
rectly ?  To  think  how  careful  I  've  been  not  to  let 
you  know  how  many  times  I  've  bound  up  the  wounds 
of,  and  given  cups  of  cold  water  to,  these  same  Reb- 
els, lest  you  should  doubt  my  patriotism,  and  now, 
to  find  you  doing  the  same  thing  !  Oh,  auntie,  you 
had  a  heart,  after  all,  for  them  as  for  us." 

*'  I  feel  just  as  I  did  about  them  in  the  mass,  "or 


220  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

rather,  I  think  them  more  wicked  and  ungrateful  than 
I  ever  did,  but  I  cannot  help  feeling  interested  in 
some  of  them  as  individuals.  When  you  can  walk, 
come  over  and  see  this  fair-skinned,  golden-haired 
boy,  with  a  girl's  beauty  and  the  soul  of  a  hero  ;  if 
his  cause  is  one  that  I  detest,  I  must  say  I  honor 
him.  He  is  deceived ;  he  believes,  or  did  believe, 
all  he  has  always  been  taught  about  us.  He  seea 
now  we  are  not  barbarians.  When  I  first  went  to 
him  to  remove  the  bandages  from  his  wound  and  put 
on  others,  I  really  believe  he  thought  I  was  going  to 
let  him  bleed  to  death.  I  soon  quieted  him,  how- 
ever, and  to  me  he  has  been  gentle  and  grateful 
since." 

**I  can  readily  believe  it,  auntie,"  said  Thorn- 
ton, laying  aside  his  jesting  manner,  "  and  I  rejoice 
that  you  are  proving  to  him  that  humanity  knows  no 
distinction  between  friend  or  foe  with  us.  Poor, 
poor  boy,  I  pity  him  without  having  seen  him  ;  and 
as  for  you,  aunt  Esther,  I  always  knew  how  kind 
you  were  at  heart,  and  I  was  in  earnest  when  I  said, 
before  I  went  to  the  war,  you  would  nurse  all  who 
required  your  care,  tenderly,  friend  or  foe." 

'*  Thank  you  for  your  just  appreciation  of  me, 
Thornton.  You  understood  me  better  than  I  under- 
stood myself." 

Yes;  until  now  Esther  St.  John  had  never  fully 
known  what  a  deep  well  of  tenderness  and  humanity 
was  in  her  heart.     Some  natures  are  never  developed 


ECHOES   FROM  THE   GUK  OF   18C1.  221 

by  the  events  of  everyday  life.  It  requires  more 
than  common  influences  to  smite  the  rock  which  liold 
the  waters  back.  Such  influences  she  had  found  in 
the  hospital  service,  and  on  the  field  of  Gettysburg ; 
the  rock  had  been  smitten,  and  the  deep  fountains 
of  Esther  St.  John's  heart  had  been  opened,  and  Its 
waters  gushed  forth  full  and  free,  carrying  refreshin"- 
and  healing  to  all  within  her  reach,  and  to  her  own 
surprise  she  had  found  her  heart  was  large  enough  to 
embrace  in  its  compassion  the  Rebel  as  well  as  the 
loyal  sufferer  from  the  horrors  of  war. 

Is  not  the  unsealing  of  such  noble  natures  to  the 
world  and  themselves  part  of  the  silver  lining  of  the 
black  cloud  of  w^ar? 
19* 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MR.    grey's   library   OXCE    MORE. 

It  is  a  far  different  scene  that  we  look  upon,  in 
that  pleasant  gathering-plaCe  of  ]\Ir.  Grey's  family, 
from  the  one  in  which  we  first  met  the  three  brothers. 
They  are  all  there  now,  and  it  is  not  necessary  for 
me  to  tell  you  that  they  are  changed,  for  that  you 
know  already  if  you  have  followed  the  progress  of 
this  story. 

Perhaps  of  the  three  the  one  of  whom  we  have 
known  the  least  in  these  pages  has  had  the  hardest 
battles  to  fight ;  and,  judging  from  his  countenance, 
his  victory  has  been  complete,  and  he  has  already 
entered  into  his  reward.  To  a  few  pure  spirits,  who 
have  bravely  fought  the  good  fight,  and  so  conquered 
themselves  as  to  yield  with  childlike  love  and  trust 
to  a  heavenly  Father's  will,  —  to  a  few  such  God 
grants  on  earth  such  foretaste  of  the  joys  of  heaven, 
that  not  only  are  their  own  hearts  lifted  up  to  serene 
heights  of  peace,  but  those  who  are  in  daily  inter- 
course with  them  are  sometimes  privileged  almost  to 
behold  the  heavenly  gates,  and  the  world  and  its  de- 
lights and  temptations  and  sorrows  are  almost  for- 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN  OF   18G1.  223 

gotten.  Such  a  spirit  was  St.  John  Grey,  and  such 
was  the  influence  he  exerted  over  the  other  members 
of  the  family.  Even  Horace,  who,  in  his  stirring 
boy  life  and  keen  enjoyment  of  the  present,  knew 
not  the  need  a^  yet  of  sometliing  higher  and  more 
spiritual  than  he  had  yet  attained,  was  chastened  and 
softened  by  intercourse  with  the  brother  whom  he 
regarded  with  a  mixture  of  awe  and  veneration,  and 
who  had  already  spiritually  passed  beyond  the  veil, 
to  him. 

After  Mrs.  Grey's  return  from  Gettysburg,  St. 
John  had  in  this  very  room  poured  out  to  her  the 
free  confidence  of  his  heart ;  and  even  his  mother 
felt  that  Ills  was  a  nature  so  for  purified  from  the 
dross  of  earth,  that  heaven  alone  could  henceforth 
satisfy  his  longings. 

After  inquiring  most  earnestly  for  Thornton,  and 
expressing  his  gratitude  at  the  prospect  of  his  recov- 
ery, he  added,  ''  It  would  have  been  so  hard,  mother, 
for  you  to  part  with  us  both." 
**  My  boy,  my  darling  !  " 

**  Yes,  mother,  you  know  that  I  must  go  hence. 
I  am  ready  and  willing,  and  you  will  not  hold  me 
back.  I  believe  none  of  our  brave  heroes  in  the  war 
have  had  harder  battles  to  fight;  but  then  I  liave 
come  out  of  my  battles  healed,  not  wounded,  re- 
newed, nofblighted  ;  and  oh,  mother,  do  not  grieve  ; 
but  I  wish  to  go,  I  am  so  weary,  and  I  do  not  want 
to  be  drawn  back  to  the  world,  and  have  to  fi<rht 


224  ECHOES  FROM   THE   GUN  OF    1861.  • 

mj  battles  over  again.  Let  me  go,  dear  mother, 
and  do  not  be  too  sad  for  my  loss  from  your  bodily 
sight." 

A  gentle  pressure  of  the  hot,  wasted  hand  she 
held  was  the  only  answer  Mrs.  Grey  could  give ; 
and  St.  John  continued  :  — 

"  Life  was  very  dear  to  me,  I  had  so  many  plans 
and  hopes  for  the  future,  —  how  dear,  with  its  broad 
field  of  labor  and  its  calls  for  service  from  every  true 
heart,  none  can  tell ;  for  I  do  not  think  any  one  can 
understand  fully  the  feelings  of  a  person  who  is  de- 
barred by  physical  infirmity  from  mingling  in  the 
more  active  pursuits  of  life.  I  think  they  are  sup- 
posed to  have  less  hold  upon  life  from  their  very 
infirmities ;  whereas  I  think  the  contrary  is  often  the 
case.  From  a  little  fellow  up  I  haye  thought  and 
planned  what  I  should  do  in  the  future,  and  how, 
if  God  had  given  me  but  one  talent,  I  would  use 
that  in  his  service.  Few  boys  of  my  age  ever  have 
time  to  think  seriously  as  I  have  done ;  hence  few 
could  have  cherished  schemes  to  forego.  Since  this 
war  broke  out,  I  have  so  longed,  so  hoped,  so  prayed, 
to  be  able  to  serve  my  country  directly  in  some  way. 
I  thought,  if  I  could  not  -v^ait  to  be  fitted  to  go  as 
chaplain,  I  could  do  something  in  the  hospitals.  I 
know  I  could  be  of  use  there,  for  my  heart  would  be 
in  my  work.  But  I  soon  found  God's  plans  for.  me 
were  not  my  plans.  •  Oh,  mother,  it  is  such  blessed 
peace  to  be  able  to  say  and  to  feel,  '  Thy  will  be 
done ! ' " 


ECHOES   FROM    THE    GUN   OF    1861.  225 

!Much  more  liad  mother  and  son  to  say  to  each 
other  in  this  free  outpouring  of  the  heart,  but  I  have 
told  you  enough  to  enable  you  to  do  justice  to  St. 
John's  character,  and  to  understand  why  his  battles 
were  so  hard  to  fight,  and  why  the  victory  was  so 
complete.  One  more  contest,  however,  he  liad  with 
himself,  and  this  came  from  a  cause  for  which  he 
was  quite  unprepared.  He  had  entered  warmly  into 
his  mother's  plan  for  receiving  Lee  and  Holdfast  into 
their  home,  and  had  thanked  her  for  it,  as  for  a  per- 
sonal favor ;  but  when  they  arrived,  he  was  at  first 
repelled  by  Lee's  proud  reserve,  and  by  the  harsh 
and  vindictive  spirit  he  evinced  in  conversation.  For 
a  few  days  he  held  himself  aloof  from  him,  and,  if 
he  talked  at  all,  it  was  with  Holdfost,  whose  sturdy, 
honest  nature  interested  him  at  once.  He  soon  felt, 
however,  that  this  was  a  wrong  course  to  pursue, 
injurious  to  himself,  as  well  as  debarring  him  from 
obtaining  any  good  influence  over  Lee.  He  soon 
won  Lee's  confidence,  and,  when  he  understood  how 
such  a  noble,  generous  nature  had  become  soured, 
he  set  himself  to  minister  to  a  mind  diseased.  Pie 
learned  that  an  orphaned  childhood,  dependence  upon 
unsympathizing  and  grudging  relatives,  premature 
contest  with  the  stern,  cold  realities  of  life,  and, 
lastly,  his  intense  anxiety  for  Emily,  the  only  star 
visible  to  him  in  his  dark  night  of  life,  and  indigna- 
tion against  her  persecutors,  had  made  him  what  he 
was. 


226  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN    OF    1861. 

You  must  not  think  that  St.  John  influenced  Lee 
by  set  discourses  upon  the  duties  of  life,  or  formal 
scriptural  teaching  of  the  broad  charity  which  is  love, 
taught  in  the  gospel.  No ;  he  knew  too  well  that 
Lee  would  only  chafe  under  such  teaching.  He  re- 
paid confidence  with  confidence,  showed  the  strug- 
gles and  longings  of  his  own  heart,  its  rebellion,  its 
final  submission,  and  then  the  fruits  of  that  submis- 
sion;  and  all  this  was  done  so  naturally,  so  kindly, 
that  before  he  was  aware  of  the  change,  Lee  felt 
that,  to  be  a  true  soldier  in  battle,  one  must  first  be 
a  soldier  of  the  cross  of  Christ. 

Let  us  now  return  to  the  assembled  company  in 
the  library,  for  it  is  the  night  before  Holdfast  and 
Lee  Waters  leave  to  go  to  the  army,  being  now 
quite  able  to  perform  their  duties. 

Thornton  lies  upon  the  lounge,  his  old  favorite 
resting-place.  The  scar  on  his  face  will'  soon  be 
hidden  by  his  beard,  and  his  wounds  are  now  rap- 
idly healing,  but  he  still  requires  weeks  more  of 
home  care  and  nursing  to  make  him  fit  to  encounter 
hardships  again.  Horace  sits-  on  a  mat  beside  him, 
and  near  Holdfast,  who  has  drawn  his  chair  just 
behind  Thornton's  lounge.  St.  John  reclines  in  an 
easy-chair,  his  face  lighted  up  with  inward  peace ; 
and  on  a  stool  at  his  feet  sits  Margaret,  sometimes 
knitting,  sometimes  glancing  upwards  with  a  strange, 
wistful  longing  into  St.  John's  face.  Near  by  are 
Lee  Waters  and  Emily  Ray,  for  the  latter  has  been 


ECHOES    FROM   THE    GUN   OF    18G1.  227 

a  frequent  giiest  at  ]Mrs.  Grey's  since  the  return  of 
her  solJIer-boy.  How  bright  and  happy,  even  radi- 
ant, she  looks  !  For  the  joy  in  her  heart  at  tlie 
chancre  in  Lee  makes  her  almost  forfi^etful  that  this 
is  the  last  meeting  for  who  knows  how  long  a  time 
between  the  two?     Who  knows,  indeed  ! 

As  for  Lee,  his  attention  is  divided  between  Emily 
and  St.  John.  Emily  is  his  own;  he  hopes  to  live 
many  years  blessed  with  her  companionship.  St. 
John  he  may  never  meet  again  on  earth,  and  to  St. 
John  he  owes  the  peace  and  rest,  the  noble  enthusi- 
asm, the  true  courage,  and  the  Christian  fortitude 
which  shines  out  of  his  now  really  noble  face.  Mr. 
Grey  sits  by  the  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  and 
Mrs.  Grey  by  St.  John,  her  hand  laid  lightly  upon 
his,  as  it  rests  on  the  arm  of  the  chair. 

There  is  a  hush  of  deep  feeling  over  all,  broken  by 
Thornton,  who  says,  lightly,  **  Beware,  boys,  not  to 
rise  too  far  above  me  by  your  deeds  of  valor  before 
I  return  to  the  army.  To  be  robbed  of  honors  by 
my  soldier  boys  would  be  too  much  even  for  my 
Sleepy-Hollowism." 

*  *  Guess  the  Sleepy  Hollow  's  about  played  out  of 
you,"  said  Horace. 

**  I  don't  know  about  that.  It 's  mighty  easy,  and 
natural  too,  to  He  here  and  be  petted.  It 's  only  the 
fear  of  being  outstripped  in  rank  that  makes  me 
anxious  to  return  to  the  army." 

**  Very  well  for  you  to  say,  old  hypocrite  !  "   re- 


228  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN    OF    1861. 

torted  Horace ;  '  *  but  I  wish  you  would  hurry  up 
and  get  well,  so 's  to  get  a  place  for  me  in  your  com- 
pany. You  know  I  'm  to  enlist  this  autumn ;  is  n't 
it  so,  father?  *' 

''  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Grey,  **  if  you  wish;  if  you 
think  it  best  to  do  so  when  the  proper  time  comes." 

This  was  said  so  gravely  Horace  looked  astounded, 
but  made  no  answer.  Another  long  pause  ensued, 
which  was  broken  by  Holdfast  so  abruptly  that  most 
of  the  company  started  as  if  a  gun  had  been  fired  off 
amongst  them. 

* '  'T  ain't  no  use  for  me  to  try  and  make  a  great 
speech,  marm ;  I  never  was  no  great  at  talkin',  — 
doin'  's  my  business ;  but  I  must  say 's  I  don'  see 
how  's  I  ever  going  to  thank  you  for  all  yer  kind- 
ness, I  mean  all  on  yer.  'T  ain  t  so  much  the  good 
food  and  good  lodgin'  you  give  me,  though  that's 
been  fit  for  a  prince,  and  by  no  means  despised,  but 
it's  the  kindness  an'  —  an'  —  what  I  've  larnt  here, 
that 's  what  makes  me  wish  I  could  say  what  I  want 
to ;  but  I  can't,  so  'tain't  no  use  to  try." 

**  We  never  can  repay  our  obligations  to  you  all, 
Mrs.  Grey,"  said  Lee;  *'  and  I  am  sure  I  am  as 
much  at  a  loss  to  know  how  to  express  my  gratitude 
to  you  as  Holdfast  is.  His  debt  is  nothing  to  mine^ 
though.  I  know  how  I  can  repay  it  in  part,  and  I 
will  try  to  do  it.  I  will  try  henceforth,"  he  added, 
in  a  lower,  solemn  tone  of  voice,  almost  as  if  register- 
to  be  a  Christian  soldier." 


ECHOES    FROM   THE    GUx\    OF    18G1.  229 

**  Waall,"  sjiicl  Holdfast,  gathering  fresh  courage 
from  this  aid,  '*  guess  my  debt's  much  the  same  as 
yourn.  Anyhow,  it 's  the  first  time  I  ever  felt  sartin 
there  was  suthin  reel  in  religion.  Now  I  've  seen 
with  my  eyes,  and  heerd  with  my  ears,  that  folks 
that 's  rich  an'  prosperous  can  pray  and  practice  too. 
It  '11  be  comfort  to  me  nights,  when  I  'm  out  in  the 
cold  an'  mud  an'  dark,  to  feel  sartin  there's  sich  good 
folks  to  hum  who  thinks  on  us." 

*'  It  is  the  very  least  we  can  do  for  you,  who  do 
€0  much  for  us,"  said  Mrs.  Grey.  *' We  are  only 
one  family  among  thousands  and  thousands  who 
think  and  feel  and  act  as  we  do.  As  for  your  debt 
to  us,  ours  to  you  is  far  greater.  I  cannot  express 
to  you  the  real  heartfelt  pleasure  it  has  been  to  us 
to  have  you  here.     Your  visit  has  done  us  all  good.' 

*'  Yes,"  said  Horace,  *'  it  has  been  such  jolly  times 
to  hear  about  your  scrapes,  and  fighting,  and  every- 
thing. I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  with  myself  till 
Thorn  goes  back.  I  want  a  field  for  my  vast  en- 
ergies." 

It  was  strange  how  many  fruitless  efforts  were 
made  that  evening  to  talk.  Every  one  felt  too 
deeply  for  words,  and  after  a  few  more  attempts  of 
Horace  to  draw  out  his  soldier  friends,  Mr.  Grey 
said,  '*  Some  of  us  must  take  an  early  breakfast  to- 
morrow, and  St.  John  looks  weary.  Let  us  unite 
in  our  usual  eveninir  service."  After  rcadinir  the 
twentieth  chapter  of  the  Gospel  of  John,  which  came 
20 


230  ECHOES   FKOM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

in  regular  order  for  the  eveoing  reading,  he  turned 
to  the  twenty-seventh  psalm,  beginning,  '*  The  Lord 
is  my  light  and  my  salvation;  whom  shall  I  fear? 
The  Lord  is  the  strength  of  my  life  ;  of  whom  shall 
I  be  afraid  ?  "  As  he  read  this  full  outpouring  of 
love  and  faith  of  the  Psalmist  of  Israel,  and  es- 
pecially the  closing  verse,  in  tones  of  deep  feeling, 
*'  Wait  on  the  Lord:  be  of  good  courage,  and  he 
shall  strengthen  thy  heart :  wait,  I  say,  on  the  Lord," 
there  was  not  one  present  who  did  not  feel  strength- 
ened and  encouraged  for  future  hardship  and  trial. 
The  prayer  which  followed  was  one  of  those  heart 
utterances  that  strike  some  chord  in  every  human, 
breast.  It  was  a  prayer  of  faith  and  loye,  a  fervent 
supplication  for  God's  protection  and  fatherly  care  for 
all ;  alike  those  who  remained  at  home  in  peace  and 
comfort,  and  those  who  went  forth  to  the  perils  of 
battle.  As  he  concluded.  Holdfast  rose  from  his 
seat,  held  out  his  rough  hand,  which  was  warmly 
grasped  by  Mr.  Grey,  and  said,  ''thank  ye,  sir," 
and  sat  down  again.  The  act  was  simple  and  touch- 
ing, for  it  told  how  completely  the  soldier  had  been 
taken  out  of  himself  and  uphfted  above  all  his  usual 
shyness  and  awkwardness. 

It  was  usual  to  close  with  singing,  as  most  of  the 
party  could  join  and  Margaret  played  upon  the  piano. 
*'  America"  was  proposed,  but  Horace  begged  first 
for  "Daughter  of  Zion  awake  from  thy  sadness," 
and  it  was  sung,  all  joining  but  Thornton,  St.  John, 
and  Holdfast. 


ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861.  231 

**  America  "  followed,  and  then  the  party  dispersed. 
Holdfast  was  the  first  to  go,  cordially  shaking  hands 
with  Thornton,  and  saying,  *«  I  shall  miss  ye,  a  heap  ; 
come  back  soon  's  yer  can."  To  St.  Johu's  kind 
wishes  for  his  welfare,  he  could  only  falter  out, 
* '  There'%no  need  for  me  to  give  ye  good  wishes  ;  I 
reckon  you've  got  the  peace  that  passeth  under- 
standing.    I  '11  never,  never  forget  yer  sweet  face." 

To  Thornton,  Lee  Waters  said,  gayly,  '*  when 
shall  we  three  meet  again  ? "  but  when  he  took  St. 
John's  hand  and  held  it  closely  pressed  in  his, 
he  could  speak  no  word ;  again  and  again  he  tried, 
but  he  could  not  command  his  voice.  Till  that  mo- 
ment he  had  not  fully  realized  what  that  parting 
would  be. 

**  Good  by,  Lee,"  said  St.  John,  cheerfully,  **  we 
shall  meet  again,  if  not  here  —  there  "  —  pointing,  as 
he  spoke,  to  heaven  ;   **  God  bless  you." 

A  fortnight  later,  this  telegram  came  to  !Mr.  Grey 
from  Washington  :  ' '  Lee  Waters  died  this  morning, 
from  hemorrhage  of  the  lungs." 


CHAPTER  XXIII.         ^ 


PROMOTION, 


Yes,  it  was  too  true.  Lee  Waters  had  passed 
through  numberless  perils  and  exposures,  in  camp 
and  on  the  march ;  had  fought  as  bravely  as  any, 
and  more  recklessly  than  most,  at  Manassas  and 
Gettysburg,  and  had  escaped  death  through  all,  and 
now,  when  it  appeared  to  all  human  seeming  that 
his  health  was  far  better  than  formerly,  he  had  been 
suddenly  taken  down  with  a  violent  attack  of  bleed- 
ins:  at  the  lun^s,  which  terminated  his  life  in  a  few 
hours.  He  was  in  Washington  at  the  time,  whither 
he  and  Holdfast  had  been  sent  upon  an  errand  by 
their  superior  officer.  Mr.  Grey,  who  had  become 
much  interested  in  Lee,  and  who  knew  that  he  had 
no  friends  out  of  the  army  to  pay  to  his  body  the  last 
tribute  'of  respect,  went  immediately  to  Washington 
and  brought  back  with  him  the  mortal  part  of  the 
young  soldier.  The  funeral  was  attended  from  the 
house  of  a  kind  friend  of  Emily's,  in  th^  city,  Mr. 
Grey  and  Thornton  following  to  Greenwood  as  chief 
mourners.  Poor  Emily,  it  was  a  sad  blovr  to  her, 
and  although  she  knew  that  there  were  thousands  of 


ECHOES   FROM   TPIE    GUN   OF    1861.  233 

hearts  in  the  country  suffering  even  as  she  suffered, 
it  did  not  make  her  individual  sorrow  the  less.  But 
she  did  not  mourn  as  one  without  hope,  for  the  re- 
membrance of  the  last  few  weeks  of  his  life,  his 
changed  character  and  purposes,  gave  her  the  assur- 
ance that  the  change  was  for  him  a  blessed  one.  For 
herself,  life  was  full  of  duties  which  she  would  strive 
to  perform  faithfully,  and,  as  she  had  strength,  cheer- 
fully. 

Thornton  felt  Lee's  loss  as  a  personal  grief.  In 
spite  of  his  ftiults  he  had  become  much  attached  to 
him  in  the  army,  and  the  weeks  of  companionship  at 
home  had  drawn  them  still  nearer  together.  Per- 
haps a  few  lines  from  Holdfast  to  Thornton  may 
interest  my  readers. 

Dear  Sir  axd  Friexd  :  Hoping  you  '11  'scuse 
my  poor  writin',  seeiu'  's  I  scursely  ever  take  pen  in 
hand,  'cept  to  Sally,  who  has  n't  much  laming  her- 
self, an'  as  I  knowed  you  'd  like  to  heer  'bout  Lee, 
I  '11  tell  you  the  little  there  is  to  tell. 

Poor  chap  !  we  was  both  in  high  spirits  when  we 
come  to  AVashington,  for  we  knowed  we  was  to  have 
comissions,  both  on  us,  —  he  fust  and  I  second  loo- 
tenant.  I  never  heerd  him  run  on  so  wild  like  'bout 
everything.  He  talked  'bout  Miss  Em'ly,  said  how 
much  too  good  she  was  for  him,  and  all  tliat,  and 
'bout  all  yer  good  folks.  He  said  nobody  knowed 
how  much  good  you  done  liim  by  yer  coorse  in  the 

20* 


234  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN    OF    1861. 

army,  and  how  often  he  felt  'shamed  of  his  own  ugly 
temper  when  you  was  so  calm  and  cool  like.  He 
said  one  sich  man  's  you  was  enough  -to  salt  a  rigi- 
ment  with  savin'  grace,  or  suthin'  like  it.  And  then 
he  said,  as  for  yer  brother,  he  finished  what  ye 
begun,  and  altogether  he  owed  ye  both,  and  indeed 
all  on  ye,  a  heavy  debt ;  but  he  'd  try  and  square  it 
off  the  way  ye  'd  all  like  best.  Then  he  'd  sing  and 
talk  away,  so  full  of  fun  and  stories,  and  sich  as  I 
never  heern  before.  Waall,  I  wasn't  with  him  when 
he  was  took  ;  but  when  I  come  up  to  his  room  to  look 
arter  him,  —  we  was  going  back  that  arternoon  to 
camp,  —  I  found  him  lyin'  all  white  an'  still  on  his 
bed,  and  a  woman  seein'  to  him.  And  then  she 
telled  me  how  he  'd  been  bleeding,  and  how  the  doc- 
tor said  he  could  n't  git  over  it.  Presently  he  opened 
his  eyes,  and  said,  **  Good-by,  old  chap:  no  more 
fightin'  for  me  here.  Tell  them,  tell  Emily  —  I  am 
willing  to  go  —  and  —  give  —  my  —  love."  Then 
he  did  n't  say  nothin'  more  for  an  hour  or  so,  an' 
then  he  looked  round  sort  of  wild  like,  and  said, 
' '  Don't  run  ;  we  '11  beat  'em  yet ;  charge  bayonets  !  " 
Then  his  look  changed,  an'  he  said,  "Read  in  my 
Bible  where  the  mark  is ;  "  an'  he  spoke  so  strong 
an'  clear-like,  I  said,  *'He's  getting  better."  She 
shook  her  head,  an'  I  got  his  Bible,  an'  opened  at 
the  mark,  an'  there  I  found  the  chapter  yer  father 
read  us  that  last  night  to  yer  house.  I  mean  the  one 
in  the  Old  Testament.     It  was  all  marked,  day  of 


ECHOES   FKOM   THE    GUN   OF    1861.  235 

month  an'  all.  F  read  it,  an'  he  looked  so  bright 
an'  pleased,  an'  after  I  got  through  he  took  my  hand 
an'  held  it  tight-like,  as  a  little  child  might,  an'  then 
he  seemed  sinkin'  an'  sinkin'  away,  an'  his  lips  jist 
moved,  an'  all  I  could  make  out  was,  "  Though  I 
walk  through  the  valley,"  —  an'  then  he  stopped,  an 

never  spoke  agin,  an' then  —  that's  all Hoping 

ye  'r  'most  smart  agin,  your  sarvant  an'  friend, 

Jake  Brown. 

St.  John  received  the  intelligence  of  Lee's  death 
calmly,  and  said,  '*  I  did  not  think  our  separation 
would  be  so  short.  I  cannot  say  poor  Lee,  I  must 
say  blessed  Lee,  for  he  would  always  have  had  a 
great  deal  to  contend  with,  with  his  fiery  temper  and 
proud  spirit,  and  religion  does  n't  alter  the  whole 
temperament ;  it  can't  do  that  for  us ;  it  only  helps 
us  to  control  our  passions.  How  glad  I  am  I  learned 
to  know  all  the  good  there  was  in  him,  and  how  glad 
I  was  able  to  help  him  ever  so  little  !  Yes,  he  used 
to  tell  me  how  much  good  Thorny's  example  had 
done  him." 

Time  passed  on,  and  brought  strength  and  healing 
on  its  wings  to  the  elder,  and  weakness  and  decline 
to  the  younger  brother ;  and  Horace,  with  his  buoy- 
ant spirits  and  exuberant  life,  looked  with  wondering 
awe  and  tender  love  upon  the  dear  one  who  had 
never,  in  his  wildest  and  rudest  days,  misjudged  his 
heart. 


236         ECHOES  from  the  gun  of  isgi. 

Thornton  was  well,  entirely  well  again.  His 
wounds  were  all  healed,  his  limbs  had  regained  their 
elasticity  and  vigor,  his  full  beard  hid  entirely  the 
scar  on  his  cheek,  and  he  looked  a  man  of  twenty- 
five  or  thirty,  so  mature  was  his  expression  and 
bearing. 

He  reported  his  restored  health  to  his  colonel,  at 
the  same  time  askins:  for  a  little  longrer  furlou^^h  on 
account  of  his  brother's  rapidly  failing  condition. 
He  did  not  receive  an  immediate  reply,  and  was  hes- 
itating whether  to  write  again  when  the  expected 
letter  came. 

It  was  the  close  of  a  beautiful  autumn  day.  St. 
John  lay  upon  a  couch,  propped  up  with  pillows. 
He  had  never  been  confined  to  his  bed  for  a  day, 
and  he  had  expressed  the  wish  that  he  might  not  be. 
Just  as  ]Mr.  Grey  entered  the  library  with  Thorn- 
ton's letter  in  his  hand,  Mrs.  Grey  had*  thrown  back 
the  blinds  opening  to  the  western  sky,  and  a  flood 
of  golden  light  poured  into  the  apartment.  *'  See," 
said  St.  John,  *'  the  room  is  full  of  glory.  A  letter, 
—  the  letter  for  Thorny,  father  ?     A  good  omen  for 

you." 

Thornton  took  the  letter,  read  it,  his  face  flushing 
with  pleasure,  his  eyes  sparkling,  handed  it  to  his 
father,  and  said  to  St.  John,  *'  Yes,  a  good  omen,  a 
true  one.  I  am  promoted  to  a  captaincy  in  my  old 
company,  to  take  poor  Xed's  place.  It  has  been 
kept  for  me,  only  temporarily  filled  till  now.     Is  n't  it 


ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861.  237 

good  news,  Johnny,  dear?  Oh,  what  is  tlje  matter ?  " 
he  exclaimed  in  a  changed  tone  as  he  looked  into  his 
brother's  face. 

**  Nothing  bad,  dear  ;  perhaps  I  too  am  to  be  pro- 
moted. Call  the  others.  I  am  glad  for  you  dear, 
dear  Thorny,  and  oh,  so  happy  for  myself!  Mother, 
dear  ones  all,  —  good  night,  —  good  night." 

This  was  all ;  with  his  mother's  hand  clasped  in 
his,  his  fiither's  laid  lightly  upon  his  brow,  his  pure 
spirit  had  passed  on  with  his  last  words,  **  good 
night." 

"  Good  night !  — now  cometh  gentle  sleep, 
And  tears  that  fall  like  gentle  rain ; 
Good  night !     O  holy,  blest,  and  deep, 
The  rest  that  follows  pain  ! 
How  should  we  reach  God's  upper  light, 
If  life's  long  day  had  no  '  good  night.'  " 

"Not  dead,  but  born  again, 
Born  by  a  new  celestial  birth." 

Henceforth  the  anniversary  of  that  day  shall  be  kept 
in  Mr.  Grey's  family,  not  with  fasting  and  mourning, 
though  sad  memories  will  mingle  with  bright  hopes, 
but  as  a  private  Easter  Sunday  of  their  hearts.  So 
far  as  practicable  the  family  will  meet  together,  and 
with  reverent  hearts  and  cheerful  faces  celebrate  that 
celestial  birthday.  Pure,  beautiful  flowers  shall  dec- 
orate the  rooms,  and  hymns  of  praise  and  thankful- 
ness shall  ascend  to  heaven. 

Aft?r  all  was  over,  and  love  and  reverence  had 


238  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

done  all  that  could  be  done  for  the  mortal  remains  of 
St.  John  Grey,  the  family  sat  together  once  more  in 
the  library,  and  talked  in  low  voices  of  the  dear  one, 
not  lost  but  gone  before.  Or  rather  Mr.  Grey  and 
Thornton  talked,  for  Mrs.  Grey  sat  back  in  her  chair 
weary  and  sorrow-stricken,  and  Margaret  on  a  stool  at 
her  feet  laid  her  head  upon  her  lap  and  pondered  over 
the  mystery  of  death,  while  Horace  listened  to  his- 
father  and  brother,  but  did  not  speak. 

**How  strange,"  said  Thornton,  *'  that  my  pro- 
motion and  his  summons  came  at  the  same  time.  I 
shall  never,  never,  forget  the  expression  of  his  face 
as  he  said,  *  perhaps  I  too  am  to  be  promoted.' 
What  earthly  rank  can  equal  his  ?  " 

*«  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Grey,  *' it  was  a  beautiful 
thought.  Death  w^ould  lose  its  terrors  if  we  could 
regard  it  in  its  true  light ;  promotion  from  care  and 
sorrow  to  peace  and  rest,  from  weariness  of  the  flesh 
to  full  spiritual  life,  from  the  imperfect  service  of 
earth,  to  the  perfect  service  of  heaven." 

'  *  I  shall  attach  a  sacred  significance  henceforth  to 
my  promotion.  I  can  hardly  bear  to  think  of  scenes 
of  blood  and  warfare  after  this  sacred  experience, 
and  yet  I  must." 

"We  walk  by  faith  and  not  by  sight,"  said  Mr. 
Grey  ;  **  war  and  the  principles  of  Christianity  are  in 
direct  opposition  to  each  other,  and  yet  my  conviction 
never  weavers  that  this  is  a  God-appointed  war,  and 
that  out  of  it  we  are  to  come  purified  and  strength- 


ECHOES    FROM    THE    GUN    OF    1861.  239 

ened,  and  really  worthy  our  great  blessings  and  privi- 
leges. AVe  shall  all  do  our  work  of  life  "better  for 
the  experience  of  the  past  few  weeks,  whether  It  be 
deeds    of  love  and    mercy,  or  a  just    resistance  to 


CHAPTER  XXIY. 

HORACE   GAINS   ANOTHER   VICTORY. 

*'  Are  you  going  to  the  city  this  morning,  Captain 
Grey?"  said  Horace,  a  day  or  two  after  the  events 
I  have  narrated  occurred. 

*'  No,  I  think  not,  it  is  not  necessary,  and  I  don't 
feel  much  hke  it." 

*'  Come  with  me  then  out  into  the  woods,  I  want 
to  talk  to  you." 

**  What  is  it,"  said  Thornton  after  they  had 
walked  some  distance ;  still  Horace  did  not  speak. 
* '  About  your  going  into  the  army  ?  " 

*  *  About  my  not  going  into  the  army,  at  least  this 
autumn." 

"  Indeed,  has  the  war  fever  left  you  then?  If  so, 
I  am  glad  of  it." 

*'  On  the  contrary  it  is  higher  than  ever.  I  never 
felt  before  so  anxious  to  be  in  the  army  as  I  do  now ; 
but  the  long  and  short  of  it  is.  Thorn,  that  I  can't 
make  up  my  mind  that  it  is  quite  right  for  me  to  go. 
If  you  don't  understand  why,  I  can't  tell  you." 

"You're  a  brave  fellow,  Horace,  braver  than  I 
am,  after  all.     I  do  understand  why.     I  ask  your 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   GUN   OF    1861.  241 

forgiveness  for  not  seeing  at  once  what  you  meant. 
I  am  so  glad  you  have  decided  to  stay  at  home.  It 
would  seem  cruel  to  leave  father  and  mother  alone 
after  all  that  has  pas-ed,  though  I  know  they  would 
not  think  of  themselves  ;  but  you  are  still  so  young 
they  both  dread  to  have  you  go.  But  how  came  you 
to  think  of  it,  Horace  ?  I  don't  believe  I  should,  in 
your  place." 

**  Perhaps  the  first  time  I  ever  thought  of  it  was 
the  night  before  the  boys  went  back  to  the  army,  and 
father  said,  if  you  remember,  I  might  go  with  you  if 
I  wished  it.  This  set  me  to  thinking  what  could 
happen  that  I  should  not  wish  it.  As  soon  as  I  un- 
derstood what  father  meant,  I  felt  bad  enough,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  I  could  n't  give  up  my  plans ;  but  I 
watched  St.  John,  and  saw  how  good  and  unselfish 
1^^  was,  even  while  he  was  so  sick,  and  I  knew  what 
he  would  think  it  right  to  do  in  such  a  case." 

*'  Did  he,  did  Johnny  ever  say  anything  to  you 
about  this?" 

'*  Xo,  not  a  word.  He  never  did  talk  much  to 
me  about  being  good,  and  all  that.  He  under- 
stood me,  St.  John  did,  and  always  seemed  to  know 
just  how  I  felt  about  things.  He  said  once  to  me 
that  I  must  take  his  place  to  father  and  mother,  and 
that  he  was  sure  I  would,  for,  —  for  I  had  a  true, 
kind  heart." 

Here  Horace  stopped  abruptly. 

'*  Have  you  told  father?"  asked  Thornton. 

21 


242  ECHOES    FROM    THE    GLN    OF    1861. 

"No,  not  yet;  I  shall  to-night.  You  see  if  I 
was  older,  I  should  feel  that  I  ought  to  go  with  you 
at  any  rate  ;  but  now  I  suppose  it 's  a  clear  case  my 
duty  is  at  home.  Steve  and  Hal  are  going,  and 
some  other  fellows  I  know  in  the  city,  but  that's 
neither  here  nor  there  if  it 's  right  for  me  to  stay  at 
home." 

**  I  said  you  were  a  brave  fellow,  and  you  are,  Hor, 
—  brave  and  strong  to  give  up  such  a  darling  wish 
to  a  sense  of  duty,  and,  without  a  hint  from  any  one 
either.  Tell  father,  by  all  means  ;  and  if  he  thinks 
it  right  for  you  to  stay  at  home,  he  will  say  so.  Xow 
let 's  have  a  good  ride  with  Margaret ;  she  looks  pale, 
and  the  fresh  air '11  do  her  good.  I'll  speak  to  her 
if  you'll  tell  John  to  bring  up  the  horses." 

**  Yes,  —  but.  Thorny,  I  wish  father  would  n't  ask 
me  why  I've  changed  my  mind.  I  don't  want  to 
talk  about  that:' 

*' Well,  perhaps  he  wont;  I  don't  think  he  will, 
in  fact." 

Perhaps  Thornton  spoke  to  his  father  that  evening 
before  Horace  saw  him.  At  all  events,  w^heu  the 
latter  said  to  him,  '*  Father,  if  you  please,  I  will 
stay  at  home  this  winter  and  enlist  in  the  spring,"  he 
was  silent  for  a  few  moments  and  then  said,  "  Thank 
you,  my  boy,  for  this  sacrifice  of  your  feelings  to 
your  mother  and  myself.  We  could  not  consent  to 
it,'  however,  unless  we  felt  sure  that  a  delay  would 
be  better  for  you  as  well  as  ourselves.     You  shall 


ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    18C1.  243 

help  me  in  my  coimtlng-room  and  in  my  labors  for 
the  soldiers,  and  we  shall  have  a  busy  and  happy 
winter.  So  best  shall  we  show  our  love  for  the  dear 
one  above." 

"Oh,  father,  thank  you,  I  am  so  glad  you  will 
let  me  help  you.  I  don't  want  to  study  any  more ; 
I  don't  believe  I  could  settle  down  to  that.  I  don't 
think  I  was  ever  made  for  a  scholar." 

* '  Perhaps  not  for  a  distinguished  one ;  but  you 
are  made  for  a  true,  faithful  man  in  whatever  you 
undertake.  Believe  me,  my  son,  this  sacrifice  of 
your  feelings  to  duty  will  be  of  more  service  to  your 
character  than  you  can  foresee.  Even  I  did  not 
expect  it  of  you.  This  is  what  I  call  controlliiig 
circumstances  to  your  best  good.  If  you  can  do  it 
now  you  will  do  it  hereafter.  *  The  boy  is  father  of 
the  man.'" 

**I  don't  exactly  know  what  you  mean,  father, 
about  my  controlling  circumstances  in  this  case. 
Have  n't  they  controlled  me  ?  " 

*'  Xot  exactly.  If  you  had  followed,  your  wishes 
would  you  not  have  gone  into  the  army  this  autumn, 
—  were  you  not  much  more  anxious  to  do  so  than 
ever  before,  partly  because  you  felt  sad  and  lonely, 
partly  because  your  patriotism  has  increased  with 
your  knowledge  of  public  affairs,  and  partly  because 
it  will  be  a  broad  field  for  your  active  and  energetic 
nature  ?  " 

"  Yes  sir,  that  is  true." 


244  ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861. 

*'  Well,  circumstances,  then,  would  have  urged 
your  going  into  the  army  had  you  suffered  them  to 
control  you,  but  you  controlled  them,  you  resisted 
their  promptings,  and  the  result  will  be  as  I  have 
said,  a  lasting  benefit  to  your  character.  You  must 
not  think,  I  repeat  again,  either  your  mother  or 
myself  would  accept  so  great  a  sacrifice  from  you 
were  we  not  persuaded  it  would  be  for  your  good." 

And  so  it  was  decided,  and  no  word  passed  be- 
tween Horace  and  his  mother  upon  the  subject  for 
weeks,  although  in  her  good-night  kiss  and  fond 
pressure  of  his  hand  that  evening  he  thought  there 
was  even  more  than  usual  tenderness. 

He  passed  a  busy  and  a  happy  winter,  as  his 
father  had  promised,  and  was  more  than  repaid  for 
the  sacrifice  he  had  made  of  his  desires  to  a  sense 
of  duty,  by  the  gratification  that  he  saw  his  presence 
in  the  family  gave  to  his  parents  and  to  Margaret. 

Poor  Margaret.  St.  John's  death  had  been  more 
of  a  loss  to  her  tlian,  in  her  innocent  heart,  she 
really  was  aware  of,  and  after  the  excitement  of  an 
event  so  new  and  mysterious  (for  her  parents  had 
died  before  her  remembrance)  had  passed  off,  she 
drooped  and  paled  like  a  delicate  flower  touched  with 
early  frost.  But  here  Horace  came  in  to  cheer  and 
sustain  her.  He  persuaded  her  to  ride,  drive,  and 
walk  with  him ;  at  first  upon  the  plea  of  helping 
dispel  his  loneliness,  and  afterwards  as  a  mutual 
pleasure  and  benefit.     He  enlisted  her  aid  in  little 


ECHOES   FROM   THE    GUN   OF    1861.  245 

plans  for  assistance  to  the  sick  and  wounded  soldiers 
in  the  Xew  York  hospitals,  and  he  enlivened  her  with 
his  bright  sallies  and  his  abounding  spirits. 

In  November,  his  father  took  Horace  with  him  to 
the  consecration  of  the  National  Cemetery  at  Gettys- 
burg, which  was  a  great  deliglit  to  the  ardent  boy, 
not  only  for  the  new  scenes  it  opened  to  him,  but  for 
the  privilege  he  enjoyed  of  hearing  the  oration  de- 
livered upon  that  occasion  by  one  of  America's  truest 
patriots  and  finest  orators.     Here,  also,  he  met  his 
brother,  ''Captain  Grey,"  and  had  the  gratification 
of  seeing  the  estimation  in  which  he  was  held  by  his 
companions  in  arms.     Here,  too,  to  his  unbounded 
surprise,  he  met  Van  Dusen  Whitmore,  as  second 
lieutenant  in  a  Pennsylvania  regiment.     He  was  told 
that  Yan  had  not  remained  more  than  a  few  weeks 
in  the  school  where  his  father  had  placed  him,  and 
that  he  had  then  run  away  and  enlisted  as  a  private 
in  the  company  in  which  he  now  held  a  commission. 
He  was  very  unpopular,  however,  with  his  men,  be- 
ing harsh  and  arrogant  to  them,  and  cruel  and  vin- 
dictive to  the  enemy.     More  tlian  one  dark  story  had 
already  been  told  of  barbarity  to  fallen  and  wounded 
foes,  and  those  who  had  watched  his  career  from  its 
commencement  in  the  army,  prophesied  disgrace  or 
violent  death.     Horace  also  heard  of  Steve  and  Hal 
from   one  of  the  oflScers  of  the  regiment  in  which 
they  had  enlisted.     Steve  was  spoken  of  highly  for 

21* 


246  ECnOES   from   the    GUX    of    1861. 

his  cool   determination,   and    Hal   for   his   bravery, 
amountinir  almost  to  rashness. 


The  winter  has  passed,  and  Horace  is  now  view- 
ing with  great  satisfaction  and  delight  the  prepara- 
tions for  his  joining  the  army  as  a  private  in  his 
brother's  company.  It  is  hard  for  him  to  keep  within 
bounds  his  pleasure  at  the  prospect  before  him ;  a 
pleasure  enhanced  by  the  knowledge  that  he  has 
nobly  earned  the  gratification  of  his  long-cherished 
desires.  I  do  not  think  such  a  broad-chested,  tall, 
vigorous-looking  youth,  with  so  much  resolution  and 
energy  expressed  in  his  face,  will  remain  a  private 
very  long.  Those  of  you  who  have  followed  his 
course  in  these  pages,  can  fancy  for  him  as  rapid 
promotion  in  the  future  as  is  reasonable  to  expect. 

My  story  is  finished.  I  will  not  slight  your  pow- 
ers of  penetration  so  much  as  to  suppose  you  need 
to  be  told  what  its  lessons  are,  but  will  simply  ex- 
press the  wish  that  this  book  may  prove  something 
more  to  you  than  the  recreation  of  an  Idle  hour. 


^ 


